The Long Hard Road Out Of Hell
by Cookie6
Summary: John in Hell knew exactly what was happening in Cold Oak. In fact he had known what was happening to his boys the whole time since he made his deal. How did he know? The demons in Hell made sure he knew, that's how... And how did he get out?
1. Chapter 1

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

Spoilers: Season 2 many episodes referred to.

Lyrics from "Bat Out Of Hell" by Meatloaf

Title courtesy Marilyn Manson

Disclaimer: And yeah, yeah, don't own them, just borrowing them from Kripke and Co. to play with them a bit.

Chapter 1: John in Hell knew _exactly_ what was happening in Cold Oak. In fact he had known what was happening to his boys the whole time since he made the deal. Now he had the front row seat to Sam's death and Dean's deal. And just how did he know? The demons in Hell made sure he know, that's how...

And how did he get out?

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

By Cookie6

Chapter One

The sirens are screaming and the fires are howling,  
way down in the valley tonight.  
There's a man in the shadows with a gun in his eye,  
and a blade shining oh so bright.  
There's evil in the air and there's thunder in sky,  
and A killer's on the bloodshot streets.  
Oh and down in the tunnel where the deadly are rising,  
Oh I swear I saw a young boy down in the gutter,  
He was starting to foam in the heat.

**Meat Loaf – Bat Out Of Hell**

. . . And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments. . .  
. . . for I am tormented in this flame. . .

. . .place of torment. . .

Luke 16:23-28

There was nothing to see, yet he saw everything. He knew his eyes were open, looking, peering out, but there was nothing but inky blackness. So dark. So _nothing_. So empty that he had to remind himself that his eyes weren't closed, yet he saw _everything_. In Technicolor, high definition. A kaleidoscope of images assaulted him and overwhelmed him. This was Hell.

There was nothing to hear, yet he heard everything. The silence was deafening. He strained to hear in the eternity of darkness, but was met with a cloying silence that drove him mad. Yet he heard _everything_. In digital surround sound, high decibel stereo, the screaming, the yelling, the cries for help, the whispered begging, the praying. This was Hell.

With what he was forced to see and hear came the utter devastation. Feelings of pain and grief permeated his mind nonstop, but that was all his own making. His heart broke over again, his fear skyrocketed and his need to protect engulfed him. Hopelessness and helplessness were high on the agenda. And the voices… They began the instant he landed here, whenever that was. Forever ago. An eternity ago. His senses were assaulted without his permission or his control. He yearned for peace, to be able to concentrate or block out at will, but it was beyond him. What he saw, what he heard, what he_ felt_ was pure misery. The bombardment was never ending. He _felt_ every word, every image, every nuance. It was beyond Hell.

The physical pain he could somehow push to the background. Heck, he had even gotten used to the intense heat from which there was no mercy. He could feel the flames even though he couldn't touch them. It was just an awareness from which there was no escape. It made breathing difficult, even though he realised that breathing wasn't a priority, shit it wasn't even a requirement. But nevertheless it was unbearable. He tried to move away from the pain the flames caused but there was no escape: they were constant and the intensity was directly proportional to the pain of the images and sounds. They singed his consciousness with a force that drove him backwards but the demons crowded him regardless. The understanding that he was trapped was crushing.

He saw every person he'd failed to save, he saw their expressions in death and he heard their screams of terror, reflecting their physical pain and their disbelief at what they were seeing. He saw the gore, he smelt the blood, he heard the screeches of the evil as it took their last breath. He knew it was his fault, because the voices told him over and over again. Their demise was due to his failure. He saw and heard each and every one of them, and he cried out his guilt and sorrow. He was in Hell.

Emotionally he was wrung out from trying to fight his torment, from trying to ignore it. He felt like he was dying but he knew that wasn't an option anymore, that this was to be his living existence for now on in. Forever. That thought alone fed his misery but it also fuelled his frustration and drove his madness to its limits. At first all he had felt was rage, intense rage that had him fighting with everything he had. But they all rejoiced at his agony, laughed their pleasure and turned it up. He felt their sinister glee at his efforts and reactions, their spite and malice tangible. He hated them like never before, with an intensity that spawned and fed his hatred.

He screamed again as he watched his beautiful Mary bleed on the ceiling, this time his disbelief replaced by repulsion and grief. The flames that scorched her burned him anew. He saw her blood drip on her baby son as he heard her call "Sammy…" before her eyes locked with his as she mouthed his name. His horror knew no bounds as he re-lived that moment. The demon chorus chanted in unison "_Burn, burn, burn_," as he whimpered. A voice vaguely familiar murmured, _"She was never yours to keep,"_ as yellow eyes glowed in the sea of black.

But the most agonising images inflicted upon him were those of his sons. John Winchester knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was in Hell.

His tormentors supplemented what he saw and heard with a continual running commentary, cruel and sadistic. They delighted in the pain, the anguish and the agony, both physical and emotional. They giggled, they chuckled, they chatted, they added opinions and description with continual cadence. The most venomous voice was accompanied by yellow eyes, instantly recognisable, fear and hatred racing for first place in his mind. This voice ensured him a front row seat to all the images. He might be unable to be with his children, but this deep, evil voice made sure he was kept up to date. The kicker was the front row ticket was only good for the most devastating scenes, a deliberate edit that messed with John's mind and convinced him that only misery and evil existed. As each vision or memory played, the flames licked higher and John felt their punishing presence.

John was no fool and he knew his sons intimately. He knew of the happiness and security they shared in each other: the joking, the teasing, the deep bond. He knew one brother existed because of the other. He knew the history of the brothers together was strong, but he just couldn't _see_ it, the negative images were so strong and dominant. He knew this was deliberate so he tried desperately to find these memories, to focus on them but they eluded him to the point that he couldn't recall any of them. He cried out in frustration, knowing they were within reach if he could just remember where… The horrors that plagued his family were replayed over and over, the torture as fresh each time. And again his hatred burned and his despair escalated. But not for himself. For Mary. And for his boys. Always for his boys. There's no place like Hell.

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The flames beat higher as he heard Sammy telling him he hated him as he slammed his few clothes into his duffle, his eighteen year old face twisted with unhappiness and resentment, tears threatening but not forthcoming, held back with determination. Sam's anger burst within John and his misery doubled knowing it was directed at him. A dozen demon voices told John he deserved it. _"You were a terrible father, all he wanted to do was leave you, couldn't get out fast enough." _He watched Dean, huddled in the corner, shock and fear on his handsome face, torn between loyalty to his father and love for his brother, his green eyes huge, his body still. Dean's despair wrapped around John's heart like a blanket, smothering him in its intensity.

The voice behind the yellow eyes mocked _"Being a good soldier robbed him of his opinion__,__ John, for all his ferociousness he is such a mouse."_ The evil smile leered. _"You did that, John. You took it from him before he ever came into himself on his own. No wonder he is so lost"._ The other demons crowded round, jeering their agreement and John felt his own guilt at his son's misery all over again, powerless to do anything about. The yellow eyes hissed _"You could have fixed it then, now you can't, and it's them who are paying."_ John felt his own tears scorch his cheeks as he silently sobbed "I'm sorry boys, I'm _so_ sorry…" but the laughter of the demons drowned out his apology in his own ears.

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Suddenly the flames leapt up, reappearing on the ceiling and John's terror magnified. Only this time the beautiful young innocent wasn't Mary. John saw blonde curls and a red slash in the flames, and his confusion mixed with his terror and grief to a whole new lethal cocktail. "Jess! No!" he heard Sam yell out and recognition dawned. "No, Oh God, please, Sam…" he moaned.

Sam's shock and terror became his own, he felt it all for his son and with his son. _"She can't have him either,"_ the demon whispered as the other demons cheered. John saw their grins, hundreds of them, maliciously leering. As John watched Dean crash through the door and drag his screaming, struggling brother out, he felt both their heartbeats thumping together with panic in their chests. "Please, stop…" he begged but his pleas fell on deaf ears. _"Oh John, there's lots more where that came from,"_ another demon jeered. John tried to turn away, but Sam's huge, hollow eyes staring upwards from over his brothers shoulder bore into his soul. _"That's it__,__ John,"_ the sea of voices jeered, _"we own your soul now, have a good look." _

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"_One, two, three, __four . . . twelve, thirteen. . ."_ Trying hard to ignore the sing-songy counting that erupted around him, John reeled as he watched his first born repeatedly smash his car with a tire iron, totally out of control, totally out of character. He watched as Dean's pain cascaded out from behind his carefully constructed wall and crashed with the enormity of his grief and despair. John felt himself crash with him. _"He knows what you did, John," _evil sneered. John groaned out loud while he watched his son breathe heavily with the exertion and the emotion that left him quivering and panting, and the demonic voices grew louder and rowdier. With abhorrence, John realised the demons had counted the number of times Dean had struck the car. _"He's lost it, John!"_ they yelled their glee. John recoiled from the blank look on his son's face, Dean totally spent.

John froze with the fear that he was watching Dean at breaking point. _"He's not fit to watch out for Sam" _the demons called, _"They'll lock him up. Dean in a cage! __They'll lock him in the loony bin!" _Evil laughter echoed all around John as more and more voices joined in. John attempted to cover his ears, but the voices were relentless. The flames became more intense as the demonic mosh pit ramped it up.

"_He blames himself__, John,"_

"_How delicious!" _

"_He is so not worthy.__"_

Dean's empty stare accelerated his misery as the flames leapt higher and burned his heart.

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The images that bombarded John came out of nowhere, fast and furious, with no discernible sequence. All he was aware of was a whole new world of anguish. His wrists burned as he watched Dean struggle with the ropes that bound him to the chair. John gagged with Dean as the filthy cloth shoved in his mouth smothered his cries. Instead John cried out for him "SAM!" Heat once more became intolerable as the unseen flames flicked at his body. The yellow eyes smirked and the demonic crowd surged forward in glee. _"It seems that we have humans on our side, John. Not planned, but a bonus nonetheless," _the yellow eyes snugly announced, _"And this one does excellent work."_ John blanched at the knowledge that he was about to watch a human hunt his children. His hunter instincts kicked in, searching for a reason as to why and which son, but the fact that either son was a target caused his stomach to clench and his panic to soar.

A loud explosion had Dean leaning forward in shock, green eyes wide with denial, his breath caught and John's breathing labored with him. "Breathe son, breathe for me" John murmured. _"Don't breathe son, stop breathing!"_ the demons chanted amidst their laughter and hooting. A second explosion had Dean heaving, his eyes flashing hatred and grief_. "Sam's gone__,__ John. Dean knows it, you know it"_. John was given a bird's eye view of blood splattered glass and a smoking boot. _"Lucky you, John, Dean didn't get to see that work of art,"_ the demon snickered. John was stunned at the intensity of the new hunter's hatred of Sam. _"He recognises Sam for what he is__,__ John."_

John felt the heavy weight of defeat as he watched the light dull in Dean's eyes, and he growled deep in his throat in distress. At this, the demonic pack applauded and their celebration ramped up to pitch fever while John drowned in his loss. His relief at seeing Sam walk through the rubble was short-lived when he saw Sam's damaged face. John instantly wanted to kill whoever was responsible for putting those cuts and bruises there. His violent thoughts were not missed by the grinning evil around him, who reminded John that he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

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"_John, watch!"_ John gasped and watched in terror as his gentle baby son ended a life with the stroke of a blade and his torment reached new heights. Sam's guilt and Dean's need to protect suffocated him and he groaned, long and low, with the weight of it. In an instant John saw one son's hazel eyes turn black and the other son's green eyes turn vacant as unconsciousness snuffed them out. John sobbed as he saw Dean crash to the ground, pistol whipped and left for dead by Sam, his beautiful face transformed, mirroring evil like he was born to it.

"_Isn't he magnificent?"_ the yellow eyes gloated. "NO!" John cried out as a sea of voices responded _"Yes, yes, YES!"_

"_He isn't finished yet!'_ a black voice bragged and John watched in disbelief as Sam begged Dean to shot him. _"Why the concern, John? Isn't that what you asked Dean to do? Didn't you order him to end Sam if he couldn't save him? You're not being two faced here, are you John?"_John yelled out and struggled at the hands that were suddenly pawing at him, the heat claustrophobic._ "Come on, John, he's only being a good little soldier, trained to obey, no second guesses…" _Suddenly John was suckerpunched by the reality of what he had asked Dean to do, what it _really_ meant, and his stomach clenched into a tight ball. "Aw, God…" his last breath to his son had been to ask for the impossible and now he was watching it unfold. He watched the high cost roll across Dean's traumatized eyes and trembling lips. "Stop son, I didn't know!" John's voice echoed in the stillness and the sea of black eyes glistened.

He watched his sons hunt each other down with guns drawn and his heart shattered that he'd let Mary down in the worse possible way. To his utter incredulity he was witness to Dean's fall from a pier as Sam shot him without hesitation, black eyes cold and unforgiving. He sobbed at the look of betrayal in Dean's eyes at he tumbled backwards. John cried out his horror "No Sam!"

"_It's inevitable, John"_ the voice of his nemesis crooned, _"He's wired that way."_ John's anger burst from him in a vicious growl that only served to ignite the flames and the demons to more laughter.

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When he saw hazel eyes in absolute despair, tears flowing freely, demons chuckled in delight, _shouting "He's gonna shoot her! He's gonna shoot her! John, your boy is a murderer after all!"_ The voice with the yellow eyes leaned in and whispered_ "And he'll hate himself…" _John watched as his youngest son squared his shoulders and looked back at his big brother with his soul bared open and he died inside. He saw deep green eyes in absolute sadness, stare, as a single tear rolled down his face.

The voices cheered "_He did it! Did you see her face as he did it"_ as the voice with the yellow eyes sneered _"He can't protect Sam from what he's destined to be. Sam's strength is what sets him apart, you knew it all along."_ John tried to dig his fists into his eyes to block out the movie of his son's agony but his anger and despair paralysed him. He yelled out in rage as he watched Dean sink with his brother to the floor, rocking him gently as he removed the glock from his grasp. The laughing of the demons blended with the sobbing of one son and the crooning of the other. John wasn't sure if he could hear his own sobs or his baby's, before the demons chanting overtook it all.

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Dean's unconscious face assaulted his vision and John cringed with how ill he looked. He tried to fight, to concentrate on searching for a happy memory but the vision of Dean hanging by his arms, dark rings under his eyes, with a needle in his neck slammed into his brain. He moaned and turned his head as he felt Dean's pain like it was his own, because now it was his own. The demon chat intensified to a fever pitch as John saw his vibrant, brave son immobilized and a feeling of desolate failure enveloped him.

"_Wait John, watch closer, look deeper..."_ the demon whispered, his voice so close that John felt its presence before he heard it. John struggled to ignore yet another horror, but against his will another vision permeated his conscience. He watched with utter disbelief as Dean leaned into his _mother's_ hand, a blissful look on his face. "No, Dean!" he cried, his grief creating a deep resonance in his voice. He watched in stunned incredulity as Sam greeted her with _familiarity_ but treated his brother with _barely contained contempt_. John saw Dean's pain on his face the instant before it torpedoed into his heart. The cruelty of it broke him and he scrunched his eyes closed to block out the torture.

"_He barely tolerates him you know. He's just an embarrassment to the whole family"_ a voice droned. John wrapped his arms around himself in an unconscious gesture of supporting Dean. He knew that Sam's indifference, indeed his cold disregard, would be tearing Dean apart, that this was the ultimate torture for his boy. _"He worked so hard to keep Sam safe, and this is how Sam repays him in a perfect world" _a menacing voice whispered.

John fought for his mind to show him the boys as he knew them to be, but was met with nothing, a blank. _"Can't find it, John?"_ another voice tormented _"Maybe because it was never there. That this IS how Sam sees Dean. A waste of space, a good-for-nothing. Maybe you saved him from himself after all, John". _At this John felt a spark ignite, but it was soon extinguished when an image of Dean thrusting a knife into his own belly exploded in his vision. _"Suicide, John! The coward's way out. And this is the end he sees fit in his perfect world. _Now_ he's watching out for Sam, improving his life!"_ John's bellow of suffering echoed around the bowels of the earth but his was the only heart in the crowd that shattered.

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For the umpteenth time in eternity, John collapsed inside himself, crying his pain, frustration and torment in silent tears. His mind tried to shut off, to disappear, to hit the mute button since the off button was non existent. But for the umpteenth time in eternity, the demonic plague hit the replay button and Hell became the box office hit with John the sole audience.

Suddenly and without warning, everything stopped. The chaotic maelstrom of sights, sounds, voices. . . ceased.

John sensed the demons rush off in a pack. Something caught their collective attention and they turned to it en masse. Like vultures suddenly allowed access to a rotting carcass., they swooped. Each one eager for a front row seat.

John froze in shock, too confused to be relieved. Before he could gather his wits, the silky voice with the yellow eyes surrounded him. Its words were suddenly his everything, filling the void left by the cessation of everything else. _"John, we've saved the best for last."_

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-: to be continued:-

This is a 5 chapter story, I will post every week.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed yourself.


	2. Chapter 2

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

With thanks and appreciation to those of you reading, and who put my story on alerts. Huge heartfelt thanks to my precious reveiwers.

Music / lyrics courtesy Meatloaf

Spoilers: AHBL 1

Disclaimer: As before, don't own them, just borrowing them from Kripke and Co. coz I love playing with them.

Chapter 2: The residents of Hell continue to torture John with their twisted, one-sided versions of the events in his son's lives, their aim to break and torment John into eternity.

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

By Cookie6

Chapter Two

Oh baby you're the only thing in this whole world,  
that's pure and good and right.  
And wherever you are and wherever you go,  
there's always gonna be some light.  
But I gotta get out,  
I gotta break it out now,  
Before the final crack of dawn.  
So we gotta make the most of our one night together.  
When it's over you know,  
We'll both be so alone.

**Meat Loaf – Bat Out Of Hell**

Suddenly and without warning, everything stopped. The chaotic maelstrom of sights, sounds, voices. . . ceased.

John steeled himself for the next onslaught he knew would assault him with force. He tried to prepare for the rush, panic stricken at what more his boys would endure, had endured, all his nerves and sinews strung out. He grit his teeth and allowed a low growl to emit from his throat in readiness.

When no assault to his senses came immediately, John's mind went on full alert, straining for any signals that an attack was imminent. His eyes narrowed as they searched, the blackness offering nothing. He strained to listen for the sounds and voices, but his ears were left ringing in the void. He was conscious that the heat remained, but its intensity had lessened, the flames dying to the embers of an unstoked fire.

John sensed the demons rush off in a pack. Something caught their collective attention and they turned to it en masse. Like vultures suddenly allowed access to a rotting carcass, they swooped. Each one eager for a front row seat.

John froze in shock, too confused to be relieved. Before he could gather his wits, the silky voice with the yellow eyes surrounded him. Its words were suddenly his everything, filling the void left by the cessation of everything else. _"John, we've saved the best for last."_

John recoiled at the suddenness of the voice. He was now aware that he could hear other voices, but they were distant, blurred in the background, and his fear heightened. Snatches of conversations drifted his way, and he realised they weren't aimed at him. The voices were difficult to make out; they came all at once, one on top of the other. The verbal tirade hit overload and John's agitation went with it. His anxiety spiked with his confusion and he intuitively knew that terror was heading his boys' way, and his mind went into overdrive.

"_I knew it would be them." _

"_He has always been the favourite." _

"_Took 'em long enough." _

"_Here they go, bets up everyone!" _

"_brute verses brain"_

"_kick the shit outta him boy!"_

"_both soldiers, this'll be good"_

"_He's been the chosen one all along."_

"_The weak ones flamed out" _

"_At last, it's time, we've waited so long"_

"_This will test 'em!"_

"_Soon we will know."_

The heat surrounded John as the voice with the yellow eyes circled him. He could follow its path by the intensity of the heat, and he whipped his head around, following its trail, John's lifelong hatred burning in his stare. _"Yes, John, the climax. Bought to you in real time!" _Guttural laughs were suddenly in suffocating proximity and the stench of death became overwhelming. Almost in slow motion to match John's dread, the flames ignited and began to flare around him.

"_John, it's time!"_ And with the voice, the flames leapt up, synchronized to perfection to match his fear, and burnt into the core of his soul.

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John physically reeled backwards as an image slammed into him, causing him to grunt with the force. Out of the stillness it came with a force of 7 G's, throwing him mentally off his feet. Sam's cry "Guh!" hit him like a subsonic boom. Although he was expecting…something, the shock was immense. Everything was driven from his mind as the sight of Sam flying backwards through the air, his arms and legs flailing, engulfed him. He was stunned as he watched Sam's body flung a great distance, at mind blowing speed, crashing through a wooden railing fence which splintered it in his wake. John's hands raised in a defensive block in front of his face as Sam hit the ground, sprawling with a groan of pain. _"Oooo, that gotta hurt,"_ black eyes danced their glee and a dozen more cackled in amusement. _"It's the finale, John."_ another demon whispered it, evil pervading its voice. _"And, hey, free tickets. Everyone's there John, it's the best show in town."_

John's terror arced with the terrible suspicion that this was different, and a feeling of devastating foreboding flooded him. The fire matched the arc in his terror and the crackles from the flames exploded in John's eardrums. _"John, we've waited so long"_ another sly, smarmy voice whispered as black eyes swam past his vision, _"and we're ready."_

Utter helplessness washed over John as he watched Sam writhe on the ground, his attempts to get up thwarted by pain and injury, the wind knocked out of him. John struggled with the constriction in his chest he knew he was sharing with Sam. _"One, Nil!"_ a cruel spectator yelled, inciting cheering from the demonic peanut gallery. John 's face throbbed as he saw ugly bruising swell on his son's jaw and cheek as Sam rolled his head from side to side, struggling to remain alert. As Sam raised himself on his elbows, his gaze never wavered and John's terror gripped him anew. A lifetime of hunting had John on instant recognition of why his son was fighting for control. "Get up, Sam!" he ordered, his yell rumbling deep from his chest in his absolute understanding that whatever had attacked Sam was still a threat. _"Get up, Sam," _a chorus sarcastically mimicked. _"Give it your best shot, Tiger!" _another called with malice and they all laughed at the clever in-house joke.

John followed Sam's gaze to a tall man in military fatigues who advanced, eyeballing Sam with determination. John's fear hummed in his ears as it dovetailed with his anger, and he bellowed "Call him off!" Demon voices chanted _"Here, boy! C'on boy!"_ and John cringed. He watched the resignation flow over Sam's face that he was in for the fight of his life. He saw Sam involuntarily clench his jaw and John felt himself wilt. Desperation drove him and he begged "Call him off, please…Sam…"

"_Can't__,"_ yellow eyes sneered, "_He's not mine. Well, sort of… Human's make their own choices, John." _

"Sonavabitch," John growled. _"See, that's what we always said"_ a voice laced with spite interrupted. John's face twisted with pain at this cruel taunt, but while his heart pounded his fury, he never took his eyes off Sam. "Human." John balled his fists at his sides at how undeserved, how fucking _unfair_ it was. His anger mixed with incredulity so sharp that his breath caught in his chest. That Sam was again the target from the side he so adamantly believed in and so fiercely defended, was beyond his belief. Despite humanity's penchant to be its own worst enemy, Sam's faith in the good of people had never faltered. The irony was not lost on John. And it broke his heart into a million bits.

John's anxiety spiked with the horrific understanding of what he was about to see, and he felt his blood roar in his ears. Sam's bewilderment and shock rolled over John in waves, and he cried his anguish out loud "Sam! SAMMY!" His need to protect the last of Mary's two most precious gifts surged. His panic peaked and his deep voice resonated with his practiced cry "Dean!" Demonic laughter saturated his mind and a slimy voice announced _"Solo performance, John!"_

A low sinister chuckle reverberated around him, and John snapped his head to meet the yellow eyes. _"We're getting ahead of ourselves here, John, preview time, fill you in. Wouldn't want ya missing the main plot." _John's rage was instantaneous and he swung his arms up with deadly intent and lunged at the voice. The chuckle continued, building to a fully fledged laugh, and dozens of voices mocked and heckled in unison. _"Now, John, you're not the boss here. You don't call the shots." _John's rage simmered and smouldered and the evil appetites around him fed. _"Need you to pay attention a spell…I won't be gone long..."_

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Instantaneously the nightmare John had dreaded for over two decades was pumped into his brain and he gasped at the image of Sam's angry hazel eyes glaring, locked on smirking yellow ones. John watched his son stalk after the demon who unbelievably turned his back on Sam. Sam's body language screamed hunter, instantly recognisable to John as his aggression hit John full on. His body was in fight mode as he walked: his shoulders and back were rigid, his arms straight with clenched fists, his legs ajar and slightly bent. But what hit John was Sam's face: his whole face blazed with hate and fury, revenge spewing from his pores. "Don't you touch him!" John roared. He was staggered that Sam was making no effort to run, to be self-protective. "Get away from him! Sam, MOVE IT! Dean… your brother! Watch your brother!" John yelled, running forward to…nowhere. He groaned as the all encompassing helplessness again swept over him and he threw back his head and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes in sheer frustration.

"_John, what part of 'solo' are you not gettin'?"_ a black voice tormented, _"Dean is AWOL, not coming, he left him alone." _John yelled his denial "Liar!" but the demonic horde drowned him out with their relentless badgering. _"Big brother care factor – zero!"_

"_Zilch!"_

"_nada!"_

John rubbed fiercely at the tears of frustration that clouded his vision and his judgement. His sense of failure snowballed and weighed him down, and the guilt that he had doomed Sam crushed him.

John's resignation that Sam was alone with the beast he had tried to protect him from since he was six months old crashed over him like a tidal wave. His son was alone. Vulnerable. Unprotected. John chanted his mantra, for his sons, for himself: "Watch each others back, Watch out for your brother" but was met only with an evil chorus of rebuttal, the voices talking over the top of him, matching the rhythm of his words with theirs. John whispered to himself "…stronger together" and without missing a beat a demonic voice added _"but sitting ducks apart."_ John physically flinched, the demon's words cutting him as sharply as a knife's honed edge. _"Everything you instilled in them…gone…for nothing,"_ the words more vicious than the flames which persistently crept up his limbs and scorched in their wake.

John closed his eyes and moaned his misery, and waited for evil to do its worst.

"_Listen, John"_ evil crowded back, milling around him once more with their stifling presence. _"There's a twist to the plot."_ The throng of bodies bumped him and jostled him and John ground his teeth in an effort not to fight with everything he had. His need to physical retaliate began to consume him. _"Give it your best shot, John,"_ a pack of voices sang. John steeled himself against the constant onslaught of hate and vindictiveness that radiated from them in an overpowering aura of evil.

Even though the choice to listen was not Johns, his attention was riveted to Sam. He watched in horror as Sam followed the yellow eyes and he strained to concentrate for all he was worth on what Sam was so intent on hearing, why he was following. John's frustration caused his head to spin as he caught the bits the demon deliberately threw his way, the sound track playing like a dubbed movie without the subtitles, so John only caught edited chunks which swirled in his mind as he fought to make them coherent.

"…_You're the one I'm rooting for…" _… John's confusion and alarm went through the roof with Sam's, the talons of hellfire scratching at his muddled mind.

"…_only one…of you crazy kids is gonna make it outta here alive."_ John felt the reality of the threat as though it were a punch in his face. To his horror pieces of the Hades puzzle started to fall into place.

He watched the surprise in Sam's eyes, reflecting his confusion as it mirrored and magnified his own. Sam's accusation rang out, 'I thought we were supposed to be…'

"…soldiers" John finished.

Black eyes swarmed around John, a multitude of swaying malicious shininess. _"You didn't know ALL the truth about Sammy. And the other children like him."_ John realised with a sickening thud that this was the puzzle piece that had eluded him all his hunter life, that he had sensed all along existed, but always remained out of reach. The burst of flames confirmed it with painful precision._ "You THOUGHT you knew all along." _John blanched as his own words were thrown back in his face.

"_but here's the thing…I don't need soldiers, I need… _

"…_soldier"_ John intuitively corrected, his face frozen and expressionless as it sunk in what this really meant. The demonic crowd watched in silent anticipation as the penny dropped and John's face revealed his horror and revulsion. _"Bulls eye,"_ a smug voice announced, and the evil crowd erupted.

"_Yes, John…soldier…I just need the one."_ John's anger exploded within him with a force that drove his misery to the background, his face a mask of torment. "You bastard!" he screamed as he struck out with fisted arms, connecting with the demons in his direct path. He sensed their surprise before he was pinned by hands, too many to comprehend, clawing him to submission. _"Oh, John, is it something I said?"_

John's disbelief matched Sam's, both instant, both understanding perfectly. The wild thumping of Sam's heart echoed off the walls like a drum and crashed into John. _"It's the destiny Sam has suspected all along. Only you and Dean refused to acknowledge it." _The sinister voice was all around John, in front of him, behind him, it was in his head, and this is where it caused maximum damage. _"Sam tried to tell you. You and that blind brother, but you both brushed him off like some pesky child." _John felt his tears as his frustration reached breaking point and this time he let them fall. His heart broke again for his gentle son, for all he had been through, for what he was to face. "Sammy…son…" John's whisper was discernable only to him, drowned out as the rage party around him danced in tune to Sam's heartbeat.

The racket from the sea black eyes red lined, their chanting deafening, non-stop. John could feel their hysterical excitement building, could feel the impending riot, and misery surfaced to smother his anger with an intensity that left him floundering.

"_Sammy, you're my favourite."_ John watched the devastation wash over his son's face, Sam's expression changing from fury to disbelief as he struggled to come to terms with that statement: that all this time the damnation of that yellow eyed bastard _was_ his destiny. John's despair hit top gear and he felt himself sway on the edge of the hellfire pit of forever lost. He yelled his frustration in a long, agonised bellow that came from deep within, and the mad dancing surrounding him matched its beat in tune with John's cry.

And it hit him that right now he was to be given a front row seat to the ultimate horror show as it unfolded and his blood ran cold. _"That's right, John," _yellow eyes again. _"Broadcast to you live__.__ Isn't modern technology marvellous? We see world events as they occur, it's like really being there instead of your own lounge chair."_

John understood that the up til now he had only been teetering on the edge of the hellfire pit. He understood with numbing clarity that nothing he had suffered through would compare to what was coming. And right now, right before his eyes, his sons were going to be thrown headlong into another kind of Hell and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to save them.

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-: to be continued:-

Thank you for reading. Please drop in and review. Chapter 3 not far away...


	3. Chapter 3

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

By Cookie6

Chapter Three

Chapter 3: There really were three Winchesters at Cold Oak that night…

Spoilers: AHBL Part 1 and 2

Lyrics from Bat Out Of Hell by Meatloaf

Poem mid story "A Dire Dance" courtesy of the talents of Vanessa, 2008 (check out her fics on this site!!)

Thanks so much to all you readers and especially my reviewers. I appreciate each and every one of you.

And I still don't own them, borrowing them off Kripke and Co to play with them some more..

--

…Nothing ever grows in this rotting old hole.  
Everything is stunted and lost.  
And nothing really rocks  
And nothing really rolls  
And nothing's ever worth the cost.  
And I know that I'm damned if I never get out,  
And maybe I'm damned if I do,  
But with every other beat I've got left in my heart,  
You know I'd rather be damned with you.

**Meat Loaf - Bat Out of Hell**

A leader. Hell needed a leader. And it wanted Sam.

Balanced on the edge of the precipice of madness, driven to knowing that a swan dive into the pits of forever lost was inevitable, John Winchester had pulled up sharply. Not a conscious, deliberate action – he wasn't even aware his mind had shifted. He just froze. His mind went into lock down and his physical being went with it.

The demonic population was fascinated with this still, frozen soul. Its appetite just as hungry for a soul's lost emptiness as it was a soul buzzing with despair. And John was a feast of both. They inched closer in a throng, shoving each other roughly in their selfish ways of only looking out for number one.

Demon voices babbled out their excitement. They squealed their delight and morbid curiosity, but John was oblivious to them. Hellfire licked and caressed him, scorching him as the flame's fingers stroked at him, but the pain barely registered. Poisoned hands groped him, each wanting the lion's share, but John didn't feel them.

No reaction.

"_He's gone"_

"_Lights are on, but no-one's home"_

"_F__eel him, he's drowning in it!"_

"_Elvis has left the building__!"_

No reaction.

Except in his heart.

A long, slow moan stole out of John's constricted throat without his awareness. He slowly tipped his head back until his throat was stretched, exposed. The final truth hit him, and it hit with sledgehammer force. He reached up and wrapped his arms around his head as the truth sank in and sadness like he'd never known crept over him. It was an empty, hollow feeling, not high and passionate like his anger or his despair. Not hot and all consuming like his hatred. But an overwhelming sense of wretchedness. Hell wanted Sam. Had wanted Sam all along. Not just his soul for their collection, as it had his, a plaything to torment for their enjoyment. They wanted him to lead them in their quest to spread their evil and destroy humanity, to become one of them. To _lead_ them. Not possession. Not a deal. But to _turn_. The magnitude of the truth, nearly twenty-four years in the making, was incomprehensible. John's mind bucked and he moaned again, long and deep, his sadness leaching to his demonic audience who lapped it up and begged for more. They showed their appreciation by cheering and applauding and fighting each other loudly for prime position.

_Everything_ had been for this moment. John stood frozen in shock, his mind and body paralyzed, as he tried to reconcile everything he had seen and heard. He closed his eyes and hung his head, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Everything had been for this. Now that he was at this point of comprehension, he really couldn't comprehend, couldn't get his head around it…All those losses…The loss of Mary, robbing them of a wife and mother, the loss of Jessica for Sam, the loss of his family's right to live happy and peaceful and normal, "Awww, God…," the loss of his boys innocence, of their childhood, of their security, had all been because Hell wanted a leader. Their lives were collateral damage. John felt himself sink as the sadness suffocated him. All around him, black eyes basked in the glory of John's despair, while yellow eyes glowed with satisfaction from the wings.

And now his Sam was the major contender. Do or die, Hell-style. John reeled as it all fell into place. _"Now you're getting it, John."_ A demonic whisper in his ear, its breath scorching hot, made him flinch back to alertness. John's hatred began to awaken as understanding translated into what it meant for Sam. John's feeling of foreboding turned into full blown terror as the reality show unfurled before him: Special children chosen to fight each other to the death, last man standing. Innocent children chosen to lose their innocence as they killed each other off, unwittingly proving to Hell that they had what it took to change sides.

John recoiled as he recognized it as nature at its most basic - survival of the fittest.

"_And John, you taught y__our boys to be the fittest,"_ yellow eyes stole into his chaotic thoughts. _"The fittest, fastest, strongest all wrapped up with brains and muscle in the total, well-trained, skilful package. How can we ever thank-you, John."_ The idea that he had contributed to evil's plan drove a knife into John's heart. The twist that by protecting his sons with his training, by training them to protect each other, he had fallen into evil's bigger picture pushed the blade deeper and John felt his heart bleed into his soul. And the demon vultures smelled the blood and swooped in for the feast.

That Hell _believed_ his gentle, compassionate son was _capable_ of such evil invaded John and he felt the spark of anger rekindle. That evil took it for granted that the last child standing would fall into their plans, that _Sam_ would fall into their plans, made his blood boil in his veins. _"He'll walk to us, John, you knew it, you warned Soldier-boy you were so sure."_ Evil words dipped in sarcasm hissed in his ear. _"Your order, John, kill him if you can't save him..."_ John's agony at this reminder was so acute that his mind retrieved a memory of its own accord. "_We'll allow that one, John,"_ black eyes conceded in a rush of heat. Dean's distraught face filled John's memory, his son's brow furrowed in disbelief. Dean's incredulous jade stare stole into John's vision in a brief close up that rammed home with heartbreaking precision that his last words to his oldest son had been the cruelest of all.

"_What you didn't work ou__t, John, was the 'how'… "_ The demonic mosh pit ramped up as they reveled in John's suffering and got off on their own excitement, their chanting driving John to madness. _"He'll not only walk TO us, John, he'll walk WITH us and IN FRONT of us."_

John began to feel the comfort of anger, the familiar control that anger bought rather than the soul destroying deflation that sadness and despair inflicted. Flames leapt up and seared him, boiling his blood to volcanic lava, and he took strength from the burn. "You arrogant Bastards!" John's yell rang out, giving his rage voice as it erupted from him in an adrenalin rush, propelling his sadness into the corner as anger and hatred took poll position.

John's outburst was met by an avalanche of sinister laughing as the throbbing crowd of black eyed devils lapped up his "praise". Yellow eyes surveyed all before them and shone in the crowd. _"Back to the main attraction, John, for your viewing pleasure..."_

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'Not _we_ Sam. Only one of us is getting outta here.'

John staggered as another image with surround sound was flung at him from left field. He watched Sam stop dead in his tracks at the uniformed man's statement, saw Sam's eyes widen in stunned surprise. An evil voice sneered _"A little rewind for you, John, a heads-up, keep you in the loop…"_

John's understanding was immediate. He was being shown in vivid detail Sam's dismay before he had been catapulted through the air. He knew he would live Sam's distress with him and watch his sorrow and fear first hand. "Sammy…" John's deep murmur echoed in the oppressive heat, his fists flexing of their own volition as anger gained a further edge.

The waves of shock rolled off Sam and slammed into John, so strong that John could feel Sam's pulse thudding through him. John closed his eyes and moaned at his inability to shield his son. He watched sheer astonishment creep over Sam's face as he shook his head and uttered a stunned denial which caused John's throat to hitch.

'He's not letting _us_ go, only one.'

Yellow eyes leaned closer, _"Yep, it was always the plan, John."_ John's heart filled his throat as he watched the myriad of expressions roll across Sam's features, saw Sam's mind process what this meant. He watched the disbelief that flowed across his expressive face as Sam grasped what to him was totally incomprehensible.

John saw Sam rapidly blink his eyes as understanding of the man's intentions dawned, and for a fleeting moment John managed to remember Sam's face as he was growing up: the little boy who hated not knowing, the look he gave when something didn't make sense and then he got it. John cried out for this innocence he still recognised in Sam, a precious part of his soul which this demon and his evil kin had exploited for all of Sam's life and were now about to destroy.

Despite the immediate threat the man posed, John's heart beat faster as he saw Sam lay down his weapon, his face as open as his hands, hope shining in his troubled hazel eyes. _"Sammy and his misplaced faith in humanity again,"_ yellow eyes sneered, "_He'll soon grow weary of this unrequited love….realize where his allegiance lies."_ John watched in amazement, pride really, as Sam desperately tried to negotiate a peaceful way out. Flames cruelly rose to meet John as he cringed from the drone that erupted around him _"Fight, fight, fight, fight…"_ the repetition forcing John's mind off Sam for a moment while he scrunched his eyes and clutched at his ears with his hands in an attempt to escape the excruciating noise.

It was kill or be killed. For John the choice was a no brainer. Devastation flooded him as he implicitly understood that to Sam there was still a choice. The recollection that Sam didn't share his innate distrust swam in John's brain and anger at these evil creatures again overrode his fear. "Straight arm, throat, Son! NOW!" he yelled, his hunter brain reacting on instinct, strategizing for a vantage point, spurred on by the panic of a father. _"Coaching from the sidelines, John? Is that allowed?"_ and the demonic spectators howled their amusement at their mocking joke, but John paid no heed, his full focus on his son. "NOW, Sam!" he ordered again, desperation lacing his voice. _"He's on his own, John, let's see what he can do,"_ a voice huffed, its breath foul and evil in his face.

To his horror, John watched as Sam dropped his guard, his faith in mankind lulling him into a false sense of security and the man let fly. John's eye's rounded as he yelled out a strangled "NO!" as the young man reached back with his arm and slammed Sam in the face with a force that had John reeling. The strength of the blow made John suck in his breath in a loud hiss. _"Sam's not the only one with special talents, John," y_ellow eyes bragged and John was hit hard with the awareness that Sam would need all his skills and wit to fight this battle. A guttural groan vibrated in his throat as he was made to again witness Sam cry out his pain as he was lifted through the air. John's voice shook as he murmured "Jesus, Sam," and fear once more became the overwhelming emotion which filled his heart and fuelled the flames to white hot.

Yellow eyes smoldered in the sea of adoring black. _"See John, not taking anything for granted. They just dig deep. It's in them, John. We just give them opportunity to find it."_

"No…Not Sam…" John's mind abruptly snapped on and a brief window of clear thinking opened, triggered by the demon's vile words. A moment's clear thought which blocked out the voices and the visions and the sounds. "Dean!" John was suddenly gutted with the realization that there was no way Dean would ever leave Sam alone. Ever. The only way that Dean would leave Sam unprotected and frightened would be if he …

"DEEEEAAAAN!!" John's yell reflected his panic, his bellow so thunderous that all of Creation and beyond would have heard it. And Beyond not only heard it, but rejoiced in it. Except it was drowned out by the roar of the firestorm it created.

-:SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNNSNSNSN:-

"_Ah yes, the irritating big brother."_ A chilling voice behind pitch black eyes taunted, _"And no where in sight." _

John rocked on his heels in dread, his head drooping forward onto his chest as grief tightened its grip on him. He pushed his hair backwards from his brow and left his hands clutching his hair as a word whispered as a prayer escaped his heart. "Dean…"

More black eyes glowed amongst the flames. _"A special request, John? Coming right up! A tribute, since you asked…" _

Suddenly John was bombarded with images, dozens of images, all on top of each other, blurring his vision, blurring his mind. They came fast and nonstop and John couldn't make out where one ended and another began. His head ached with the ferociousness of their speed and volume, the energy they radiated pummeling him senseless. The demonic director editing nothing and caring nothing for censorship.

…Dean in bars, lots of them. Flirting, drinking, joking, sculling beer and whiskey chasers. Dean hustling pool. Dean working a crowd. Dean stuffing his face with greasy food. Dean's face full of smiles and smirks and freedom, his voice slurred, his green eyes glassy and over bright. Dean partying til the wee hours. Dean crawling out drunk and carefree. Back to where-ever he had left Sam.

…Dean with women, lots of them. Playing, teasing, pressing, touching and being touched. In darkened rooms. In the backseat of the impala. In alleyways up against brick walls. Under the stars in grassy hideaways. Dean hot and panting, moving. Dean's face full of passion and intensity and gratification, his voice deep, his green eyes smoldering. Dean escaping til the wee hours. Dean crawling back satiated and spent. Back to where-ever he had left Sam.

"_Soldier-boy left his post__."_ An evil voice announced, and raucous laughter aimed at John hit true.

John buckled under the onslaught, crying out "Enough!" as the demon hoard chanted _"Selfish, self centered, irresponsible" _over and over, their voices taking on the rhythm of a crazed football mob. John tried so hard to fight, but the theme of the images was hard to miss. He struggled to find sanity in memories he knew…somehow…to see through the lies, but the relentless ambush allowed no breathing space. _"Truth hurts, John. Can't deny the evidence when it's so, well…in your face."_

"_Can't blame him for wanting freedom, John. He rid himself as many times as he could of the burden you shoved in his arms that night."_ John scrunched his face tightly and felt the flames lash out turning his guilt into welts on his soul. And a spiteful voice breathing its putrid breath in his ear whispered _"Excellent work, John, we don't need to bash your soul when you do such a good job of it yourself…"_

Immediately the onslaught of images was replaced by another. John watched as Sam walked into a diner, alone, in the middle of God-Knows-Where. _"Left him unprotected the minute your back was turned,"_ dead eyes voice dripped with malice and John's deep brown eyes dimmed with dismay.

Before John could comprehend what he was seeing, the image was overtaken by another. A horror scene with graphic special effects filled his view. The demonic crowd fell eerily silent, entranced by the scene, their coal eyes greedily soaking up the carnage. Blood, everywhere. John could see it, smell it. It flowed across a table and splashed onto the floor with magnified drips that crashed into John's ear drums. It spread across a floor and pooled in thick, syrupy puddles, rippling in waves that crashed into John. Open eyes with open throats stared unseeing at him, and John shuddered his relief that none of them were Sam or Dean. And sulphur… it assaulted his senses, its acidic, pungent aroma burning his nose and stinging his brain. "Oh God…" John murmured, the stillness of the scene in conflict with the turbulence in his heart.

John's mind fought for control. "You took him," John ground out between his clenched teeth, fighting the panic that threatened to pull him under. Yellow eyes flared as the voice sharpened. "_We FOUND him, John._ _Dean dumped him. Ditched him for some pie._" In the dark around him John knew the demons were swarming as the flames reflected silver in their ebony eyes as they echoed an undercurrent that drove John nuts. "_Sent him for pie and left him alone. Sent him for pie and left him alone."_ John moaned quietly as he felt the depth of his isolation from his sons like never before.

And again the mental picture thrust at John was of Sam on the ground, his face grim as the man in fatigues advanced towards him. _"Last two, John. Showtime!"_ yellow eyes announced and the demonic world went wild.

-:SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNNSNSNSN:-

"_As we speak, John, prime time, live!"_ The evil announcement turned John's heated blood to ice as panic filled his soul. He ignored the jibe _"our soul, not yours,"_ and the demonic giggles it caused. The heat grew intense with his understanding that he was actually watching his baby son fight for his life. His torture escalated with the realization that at the end of this fight, Sam will have killed a man and would then have to fight Hell as it tried to claim him as their prize. His moan of misery was cut off as the man lashed out at Sam and the crowd erupted when evil screeched out _"Game on!"_

John anticipated the kick just as the man pulled his leg back. "Block!" John yelled and as if he could hear him, Sam raised his leg and delivered three powerful kicks that blocked the strike and sent his opponent staggering backwards. _"Very good, John, you've virtually programmed your boys with your training" _the voice with the yellow eyes admired.

"On your feet!" John ordered and to his relief he watched Sam leap to his feet with look of grit and a growl of determination. The demon audience cheered loudly and the flames mimicked their rave dance with them.

Before John could react, the man stuck Sam in the shoulder with a closed fist. As the sickening sound of crunching bone echoed around his prison walls, John felt his own shoulder explode with the dislocation that crippled Sam's shoulder and caused his boy to cry his pain out loud. _"Ooowweee!!"_ the demon's chorused as their excitement hit hyper. John saw Sam grab his shoulder in reflex to the pain, his attention taken off his attacker with the shock. "No, Sam!" John yelled his frustration as he helplessly watched the next blow land that Sam did not see coming. John cringed in horror as Sam was again knocked to the ground with a short, powerful jab that bruised ribs and stole breath. Sam's pain and shock radiated into John and he cried his torment and pain with Sam. "Guhhhh!"

John felt a surge of pride as he watched Sam launch to his feet, despite his injuries. "Atta Boy" he quietly praised, and felt strength at his son's courage. He noticed the look of determination on Sam's face and recognized the instant the hunter emerged. He wasn't the only one to become aware. _"He has that menace factor about him, John. Push the right button and that quiet boy erupts into a fighting machine."_ John recoiled that so accurate a description of his son should be perceived by evil, and his hatred burned and festered.

Hell cheered rowdily all around John as Sam took evasive action by curling his body out of harms way and the man's fist crashed through timber and for an insane instant John nearly cheered with them. Elation kicked in and John growled out an approving "Good Boy" as Sam countered with a series of punches and kicks that dropped his attacker where he stood.The flames hovered in the background as John smiled his satisfaction.

John watched with his heart in his throat as Sam clenched his teeth and without hesitation lifted his leg high and connected with the man's chest. John's grunt supported Sam's as he used it to power his kick, driving his rival backwards with a force that smashed him through a timber fence, sprawling him spread-eagled in the dirt. _"Go Sammy! Go Sammy!"_ the black eyed swarm recited, as they thronged and jostled, their eyes illuminating the pitch black with an eerie uneven glow.

John watched as Sam swayed, his face a picture of exhaustion and torment, his breath coming hard and fast from his exertion. The pain in Sam's shoulder burnt within John's and he hissed in sympathy for his son. The man on the ground stirred and John growled his disbelief that this fight was still not over. John was privy to a close up of Sam's look of resignation as he picked up his weapon and rammed it across his new enemy's throat, somersaulting him into unconsciousness. _"Nice trick, John. One of yours?"_ the yellow eyes provoked, _"He's sharp, fast thinking and fast on his feet. You must be so proud."_ John felt sickened by the warped compliment, and stiffened at the insult.

Knowing the high cost to Sam of such violence against another man, John again felt dark sadness mingle with his anger and hatred. _"See what happens when he's pushed John," _the yellow eyes scorned. "_All that innocence yet still with that useful callousness underneath."_ John's fury was instant, incited by such evilness aimed at the child bought into his fight by no choice of his own. He screamed his disgust from deep in his belly "You sick fuck!" as he thrashed out at everything and anything around him. Demon's ducked and dodged, but laughed their amusement, even the ones knocked down by John's flying fists.

"_He's__ not done yet, look John."_ A sinister voice caught John up smartly and he froze with his fists in the air. He stared with Sam at the unconscious man on the ground, unsure of his son's next move. He held his breath as he watched him raise the weapon above his head and his heart slammed against his ribs in time with Sam's as the weapon hung midair with his indecision. _"Finish him off! Do it!"_ a demon called from the pack and the rest of evil mimicked, their voices full of evil excitement, until hundreds of voices were swirling in John's head with the common mantra _"Do it! Do it! Do it!"_

John watched with incredulity as he saw the look of steely determination give way to regret and compassion on his son's face. John watched Sam discard his weapon with a look of defiance which spoke volumes of his disgust. _"Looks like he doesn't share your black heart, John,"_ the demon commented, flippancy adding barb to its words. With absolute understanding that Sam had made the choice he alone had to live with, John turned to the yellow eyes and in a low, deep voice that was pure Winchester, he said quietly "You lose."

Yellow eyes moved in close to John and narrowed to amber slits as they stared into hardened dark brown ones. The flames grew tall and vicious and John wasn't sure whether he or the demon had enticed them this time. _"Wanna make a bet? How about…your son?"_ John's anger sizzled and his eyes held the stare, but abruptly the yellow eyes moved back into the crowd.

"_Well, what'a ya know, here comes the cavalry."_

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John heard it the same time Sam did and his relief was immense. He felt the physical tension dissipate out of his body in waves. He knew for sure that Dean was alive and had found his brother and even Hell was now a better place. As Dean's voice calling his brother echoed throughout his existence, the flames and the heat receded dramatically and the demons gasped their displeasure and complained bitterly with loud angry abuse.

John watched the boyish joy light up Sam's face as he recognized his brother's voice and a cocky half smile hovered on his lips. His boys were together, where they belonged.

"_A happy ever after ending, John? I don't think so__,"_ yellow eyes scoffed, and black voices rejoined the bullying adding with vindictiveness _"You both took your eye of the ball."_ The flames roared higher and hotter than they ever had and John's radar went off as his fear climbed as high as the fiery fingers reached, any reprieve or happiness he had felt burnt to a crisp in a nano-second.

"_Watch again, John."_ The demonic pit crew had gone into overdrive, hollering and yelling in a hysterical crescendo and John's fear vibrated throughout his body putting him on high alert even before he heard Dean yell his warning.

Before his eyes the man in fatigues staggered to his feet behind Sam.

Before his eyes the man who Sam had let live bent to pick up his knife from the mud.

And before his eyes the man plunged his knife into his baby's back.

"SAMMMM!!" John's primal yell reverberated in his skull and shook Hell to its foundations.

"_No, John."_ Evil moved in close, and narrowed yellow slits glared into John's shocked, stunned face. John closed his eyes to shut them out, but they re-appeared behind his closed lids, intruding and invading, no escape, as they demanded his attention.

"_YOU lose"_

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John and Dean's terror climaxed simultaneously, their hearts crashing together, thumping in unity despite being universes apart. John saw it, felt it, never surer of anything. As both elder Winchester men watched, the boy who was their light, the one ray of good, of purity left in their tormented existences, arched his back and threw back his head. Both their hearts shattered in sync as they saw Sammy grimace in agony, his cries splintering the night. John knew his own harsh roar burst from his heart with Dean's, one filling the still, cold air of Cold Oak, the other filling the stifling, stuffy air of Hell as they yelled their desolation as one.

"**NOOOOOO!!"**

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Despair and desperation

dance a dire dance.

Swaying softly, intimately

in time with the internal,

infernal dirge.

Hope now nothing more

than a faded wallflower.

Shadowed eyes stare

into the middle distance.

Valiant in keeping their secrets.

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The force of the knife thrust would have driven John to his knees if he weren't already crashing there with Sam. Sam's grunts of agony and gentle moans of pain filled John's head and fractured his heart while unbearable pain sliced through his back and he felt his spinal cord separate with Sam's. His heartbreak deepened as he felt Sam's complete and utter surprise at the attack wash over him. He felt Sam's brief struggle as he tried to understand what was happening and then he died inside as he felt Sam let it go as his mind blanked out of any reasoning at all.

John screamed harshly as his feelings of helplessness engulfed him, drowned him and his guilt that his son was dying because of him rained down and crushed him.

"_John, listen… " _evil pointed out venomously as Sam's labored heartbeat ricocheted in the gloom.

…thud-thud…thud-thud…thud-thud…

"_Front row seat, John. VIP seating guarantees you a backstage pass."_ The brutal vision of the knife penetrating Sam's back swamped John and the sickening noises it made as it twisted and sliced upwards, before being sucked back out overpowered him. He threw his head back and moaned his misery and horror in long, low moans which caused the demons around him to noisily gather in closer to immerse themselves in misery like they'd never tasted.

…thud…thud……thud…thud……thud………thud…

As John watched hopelessly, a terrified Dean slid to his knees and caught his brother as he collapsed in his arms. John watched in total horror as Sam went limp and sunk against his brother, both of them sinking lower together. He heard Dean's panicked reassurances as Sam's head lolled, saw Dean's huge scared eyes, saw Dean's hands struggle to hold him up, to help him and finally to caress him as Sam's eyelids began to close.

…thud…thud……thud…

"_Going…going…__"_

'SAMMY!" Dean's traumatized yell tore through John's soul.

…thud…

John watched with pure defeat as Dean held tightly to his baby brother, his eyes frantically searching Sammy's face for some sort of sign, knowing in his heart what was about to come, and just like John, knowing he was powerless to stop it.

…thuuud… … …

"_Gone!"_ The demonic cheer went out like a New Years Eve count down and John was stunned that evil so deep even existed.

"_Lights out!_ A black voice announced with glee that made John's grief turn murderous.

John listened in stunned silence to Dean's elongated denial and his grief burst for Dean, knowing Dean's greatest fear had eventuated in his arms. 'Sammy!...No…no, no, no, no, no…'

John saw, no _felt_ the exact moment of Dean's comprehension that Sam was gone, validated when his son's anguished cry 'SAMMY!!' shook Hell and Earth alike with its passion. John sobbed his misery out loud as he saw tears pool without restraint in Dean's eyes and roll down his crumpled face, all of Dean's emotions crashing from behind his wall. Dean had no where left to run and John recognised a man whose breaking point had been reached in his son.

His baby was dead. Everything him and Dean had done for almost twenty-four years had centered around keeping Sam safe and they hadn't stopped it. His death was brutal, callous, cruel. And John died all over again in the senselessness of their loss.

His eldest was destroyed. Dean's burying his devastated face in his dead brother's hair was branded into John's retinas. Dean's green eyes were hollow with shock and grief, and his game face cast aside by sorrow as he held tightly onto Sammy, rocking him like he had done his whole life.

Memories of all the times Dean had rocked Sammy when he needed him flooded back and none of it was Hell's idea. John's grief opened the floodgates to his memories of his boys and they cascaded over him. This time was agonizingly different, this time Sammy wasn't comforted by Dean, wasn't aware anymore that he was safe in his brother's embrace and John silently cried his loss.

John was not left to grieve in private as the voice with the yellow eyes barged in. _"Well, not the outcome we expected, but worth it to watch you and that other kid of yours drown in your own pitiful grief."_ The demons were in a frenzy, their manic noise filling every crevice of time and space. _"In fact…"_ the yellow eyes conceded as they watched John watching his boys_ "not a bad outcome at all. We still have a worthy leader and you and Dean have…well…nothing…"_

John's despair that evil had won out robbed him of his breath and his will and he felt himself caving in until grief fuelled anger ignited, slowly at first, but built in pressure until it exploded from deep within him…and John Winchester went ballistic.

He roared as his hands grabbed the nearest evil being and he ripped its head clean from its shoulders with his bare hands. The demonic crowd freaked, scrabbling to get away but the throng of evil was so thick it was easy pickings. In his rampage John struck out and connected with anything within reach. His hands clawed, ripped, punched and tore. His fury drove him on in his carnage, the flames, heat and gnarled hands grabbing back at him having no effect. He yelled and growled as he lost control, physically destroying everything in his path. His demented soul lashed out, he thrashed and he fought, his fury showing no signs of abating.

Yellow eyes smoldered as they watched a hunter cut loose in Hell, wondering what a leader this one would have made and lamenting that his spawn was not the one.

"_P__ity it wasn't Sammy. If these skills are the tools of the trade you bequeathed him he would have been perfect…"_

John stopped fighting abruptly and turned in the direction of the yellow eyes in stunned disbelief.

"_But he turned his back, John. Didn't you teach him never to turn his back?'_" evil voices snickered and stepped over their mangled mates to once again mill together like the herd of parasites they were, feeding off more raw emotions radiating from John.

"_W__hose mistake was that? Who's the loser, you or Sam?"_ John flinched before another demon voice added nastily _"You all are."_

…and with that John sank to his knees, defeated, empty, and sobbed with Dean, his arms wrapping as tightly around his own body as his eldest son's were tightly around his youngest. His mind let go of the tide of real gut wrenching grief that was left now that his physical outburst was spent.

Sam was gone. Dean was broken and John broke with him.

Yellow eyes stepped in close, glistening with unadulterated evil as they whispered with an evilness and cruelness that surpassed anything John had ever known in his life of dealing with evil, _"And then there was one."_

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Yellow eyes glowed in the dark, sending shards of gold and black into the darkness. Its evil glow cast murky shadows over John's still, hunched form, as it soaked up his abundant shock and grief with a healthy appetite.

The noise of the demon clan was deafening and black eyes by the hundreds partied and celebrated their new leader with violence and filth. Hellfire around them roared non-stop, the constant flares causing intense heat and flashes of blinding light.

But John heard nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing as he sunk further and further into emptiness.

The demon watched with calmness and serenity, from within the anarchy of its surroundings, as red eyes glowed across the sea of black.

"_It is done. He is mine.__"_

The red eyes stole over John and dug deep into his soul to see the freeze frame of one sobbing brother rocking the other dead one._" We own all three Winchesters now." _

And it smirked as it slyly added _"One way or another."_

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John's anger and rage built inside him, so strong that it overshadowed his grief, his pain and his fear. It became so intense, it overrode the sounds and the sights that were thrust upon him, relegating them to nothing more than an annoying background buzz. He felt it mix with his hatred and grow strong. He let his love and pride for his sons fuel it until it became his only existence, surging through him, replacing the debilitating feelings of hopelessness and helplessness with power. Cold, calculating anger.

The over-riding thought that consumed John was to get out, to get to Dean, to protect Dean, to comfort Dean. To avenge Sam. It grew from a thought to a purpose, and his hunter mind flexed.

He instinctively found a second wind to physically brace himself to aid his mind in its fight. Without conscious thought he stood and raised himself to his full height and squared his shoulders back, his chest broadening as his ribs expanded. As his shoulders uncurled, his arms straightened at his sides and his palms opened. In a reflex he balled his hands into tight fists and bent his wrists slightly. His biceps flexed and popped as the veins and sinews in his forearms became more pronounced. His head raised and tipped back slightly so his chin jutted. John's eyes narrowed then opened and defiantly scanned his surroundings as his nostrils flared. At the same time his stance balanced, legs spreading to stand feet apart just wide of his hips, knees locked, hips thrust slightly forward. As his body went into predator mode, his mind sharpened in response.

He felt the hunter emerge - resourceful, wily, skilled, experienced. Cold. He allowed that hunter to take the place of the grief stricken father, just as he had twenty-three and a half years ago when he had buried the grief stricken husband.

John's head lifted slowly off his chest and he glared up through his angled brows, his stare deadly and menacing. His mouth set in a determined line and a muscle clenched in his cheek.

His irises widened as they opened to allow his brain maximum vision, and his eyes became blacker than all those around him.

And he began to make plans.

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TBC

Thank you all so much for continuing to read. A special thanks to my reviewers, you make my day!


	4. Chapter 4

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

Chapter 4: John was more than ready to climb out, but Hell wasn't quite finished…

Special thanks to Bulletbabe over at UnGen for her exceptional beta-ing. I really appreciate you, Bullet. Check out her exceptional work here on ff under the name "Sandmanfan" - it's sure worth a look!

Another shout out to a special huntergirl who helped pick up and dust off my confidence when my muse left town – Birdie you rock! You can also find her stuff here under the name "Deansbabybird" - you'll be glad you did.

Thanks so much to all you readers and especially my treasured reviewers. You all make my day.

Spoilers: AHBL Part 1 and 2

Lyrics from Bat Out Of Hell by Meatloaf

And still wishing I owned them, but just playing in Kripke's sandbox…

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

By Cookie6

Chapter Four

Then I'm dying at the bottom of a pit in the blazing sun.  
Torn and twisted at the foot of a burning bike.  
And I think somebody somewhere must be tolling a bell.  
And the last thing I see is my heart,  
Still beating,  
Breaking out of my body,  
And flying away,  
Like a bat out of hell.

**Meat Loaf - Bat Out of Hell**

Once again Hell was witness to the silent stillness that was John Winchester as he stood frozen amidst the stench of sulphur and the oppressive gloom. In the thick, stifling, heat burdened darkness, John was absolutely motionless.

Not a single part of him moved, every muscle tense, hard, like he was cast of stone. Not a flinch.

To the evil mass milling around trying for a way in, his mind was as still as his form. John was a brick wall impervious to invasion, closed as a steel trap.

It was his eyes that showed his closure more than anything. Those eyes that had broadcast his immense grief, anguish and despair to Hell's audience for so long were in lockdown. Those eyes that had been forced to witness the agony of every instant of his sons' pain and torture since the night he had made this deal, stared straight ahead. No discernible movement in their dark depths as they appeared vacant and dead to the black eyed stares aimed at them. Not a flicker.

He was impenetrable.

But that didn't stop them trying.

The demon horde continued to swarm around him, but this time instead of crowding him, touching him, they skirted with caution and confusion. Despair continued to radiate from him in powerful waves, captivating the evil leeches who couldn't ignore their cravings. It whetted their appetites, enticing them closer.

They could feel John's grief larger than life, deep enough that his soul was theirs for the taking, if only they could reach it. They sniffed and soaked it all up, but from a frustrating distance. Their greed kept them circling, but they were kept at bay and they screeched their frustration and impatience at this unaccustomed turn of events. Their desperation to feed from this grief so pure drove them to repeatedly rush at him, their rage growing, but each time they were thwarted.

There was something…different that made them unsure and halted them repeatedly in their tracks. The evil hyena pack circled with deadly intent, black eyes not moving from their target as they tested the waters, whispering incessantly, but not game to push too close.

They stared at John's naked soul and were excited by what they saw. The picture burned in his brain, the last vision Hell had thrust at John before he had completely broken and shut down, when he had become oblivious to their cruelty. The demonic viewers were enthralled by the grieving brother rocking the bleeding brother that was the freeze frame in John's mind. A dead son and a shattered son, huddled together, one holding on, the other letting go. Their desire to partake of this feast drove them to distraction – absolute anguish with the irresistible taint of death was the prize John offered, and it was worth fighting for.

The loss of the youngest one was strong in John's scent, permeating his surroundings, and black eyes searched greedily for an entrance back into the tormented soul that beckoned them. John's despair over the dead one was instantly recognisable to the evilness around him - an emptiness created by the missing heartbeat. The hole in his soul was gaping and raw and the demons lusted after it, their swarming and pushing increasing with their agitation.

But while John's anguish over Sam's death hemorrhaged from within, he positively wore the shattered heart of his oldest like a second skin. Every emotion the demons saw in Dean as he sobbed and rocked his brother's body slammed out of John and drove them into a frenzy. John's soul vibrated with Dean's grief and guilt. He felt it, recognised it, matched it, owned it. It twisted in his gut and then rocketed out of John as he rode the emotional tidal wave non-stop with his son as he was pitched and crushed under its onslaught.

And the ocean of black eyes saturated themselves in it.

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Twice now, Hell had seen John frozen as he was overwhelmed and bombarded.

The first time Hell watched with glee as he wavered on the brink of surrender as the final realisation of Hell's plan hit home, his soul ready to topple over deeper into the fiery pit to join the forever lost, to lose any shred of humanity that the demons hadn't stripped from his soul.

The second had seen John totally beaten, unable to take any more and Hell had rejoiced at John's inward collapse as he was forced to watch the annihilation of his sons. Seeing such an alpha hunter broken beyond repair had their vanity on overdrive, and they had celebrated with conceited abandon.

Both times Hell had been in control, had called the shots and John had been at their mercy before they had chased him into oblivion. And both times Hell had prospered and thrived at his expense.

The difference now was that Hell's tormentors were unable to climb back in and pull him out in order to repeat the cycle of torment. They felt the barrier which locked them out, which concealed the door to John's soul. The demon population was frazzled with this lack of access and their ranting and raving reflected their confusion and displeasure.

They had sensed the difference the instant he'd deliberately chosen to block them out. And for John, choice was everything. This time John's retreat was of his own making, a deliberate choice where he locked himself away and put up a forcefield borne of a man driven to the edge, a survival mechanism that was a Winchester specialty.

But while Hell's groping talons couldn't get in, John couldn't stop what came out. His pain and grief were suffocating and he couldn't rein them in. So while he remained eerily still and quiet, without moving a muscle or flickering an eye, terror and pain exploded from his tortured heart and filled Hell's cavities and crevices. The demonic parasites couldn't get enough and basked in the glory of his agony even while their inability to incite more drove them to madness.

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Using strength of mind, John shut everything off. They couldn't get in, and now he would make damn sure nothing got out. Nothing of him for evil to latch onto. Nothing of him for them to violate any further. Nothing of him to let them reach his boys any more. _Never again_ was the kick he need as he closed his mental doors and padlocked his heart and soul behind them.

With his emotions in check, John buried himself behind the same wall he had inadvertently bequeathed to Dean by virtue of genetic coding and a lifetime of expert example. What John had created, Dean had perfected. John concentrated on Dean and fortified his wall.

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In the safe, private cocoon of his own mind, John took stock. Barricaded away from the relentless pounding of the hundreds of soulless creatures that had invaded his sanity and were now clamoring to reach back in, John cosseted himself in and took back control. His mental wall grew thick and strong, and insulated him from evils claws that were scratching to find his cracks. He searched for the memories he knew he needed to fight the lies and half truths. He flexed his mind, feeling his potency emerging.

He searched for himself.

John searched while the demons stalked. He listened to their snivels and their whining as they snapped at each other in their frustration and exasperation that their supply had been cut off. John was fully aware that they were ramping up their attempts, their reluctance and hesitation giving way to determination, and he willed himself not to react. He schooled his physical body, he schooled his mind and he schooled his soul and all three answered his call. His stillness took on a whole new dimension and the demonic rage escalated at his passiveness.

John buried himself in his search until he found what he was looking for.

He found his sons.

And he desperately replayed the stolen snapshots of his boys' lives in his head. They were a jumble of gurgling babies, mischievous little boys, inquisitive teenagers and capable men. He watched them play and learn and sleep and spar. He watched their faces reflect their curiosity, their amusement and their intelligence. But more than that, he watched them watch each other. Every interaction, every word, every nuance between them shone with their shared friendship, respect, admiration and love.

John watched as the differences which marked each one an individual, complimented and strengthened the other. He watched as each son balanced and grounded the other, in everything they did. Two souls so different yet so alike. John could actually see their connection, in their words, their touches, their glances. He watched the unique bond between them and knew what Hell had done. He knew he had found Hell's Achilles Heel in his sons bond - Hell could only hide it and twist it because it could never override it.

John strained to see behind Hell's dirty tricks and the truth slowly began its way back.

Yellow Eyes and its demonic colleagues had taunted John mercilessly about him training his boys to be the fittest and the best. It had pummeled John with this as if it were a failing, yet another part of his son's upbringing where he had botched it as a father, and for which Hell was thankful. But now John wore that accusation with pride. His eyes shone with the knowledge that he had done it right. He would have steered them to be the best he knew they would be in any life. But life's context had not been his making. The truth was they were the fittest and the best in a life of war with evil that had been unjustly thrust upon his innocent family the night Sam turned six months old.

But contrary to the evil goading, skills of combat and battle strategy weren't the only legacy John left his sons. An almost innate knowledge of weaponry and how to use them with deadly accuracy weren't the only tools John had packed in his kids backpacks each day. He had instilled in them something more precious, more valuable, more useful. What he had armed them with was the heart to use them, and the discretion to know when.

For John this was nothing about squeezing the trigger and everything about believing in choice. Along with his mantra of 'stay together' and 'watch out for your brother' the underlying, not to be disputed philosophy of John' indoctrination was that you always had a choice. They were not empty words to be bantered about because they sounded high and mighty. They were truths to live by. These words were about strength of character and John judged a man by his ability to exercise them. And he judged his boys favorably. The bravery to exercise choice was part of life's skills that John had instilled in Sam and Dean and which had kept them alive and saved the lives of countless innocents.

It was nothing about being able to sleep well at night because that wasn't a given either. Nor was it high on John's care factor. It was about weighing up the evidence and the situation and mapping it back against what you believed was right. He knew his choices hadn't always won him friends or endeared him to people, but it didn't matter because everything he did was based on a choice, and a choice equated to a plan. Know what you want and work out how to get there. As long as you stay together and watch each others backs. And know when to get the hell out was always the back up plan.

John reflected that Dean had learnt his lessons early and well. But then, what he had seen and experienced he shared with John. What his four year old eyes saw gave him that shared understanding that they had to be prepared to be safe. He was driven by the same fear and loss as John. And by the same incentive – Keep Sammy safe.

At first glance, and for most of Sam's life, it looked like he was not open to learning John's ways. But now he had a new eye for seeing. What he now saw was the same success – he saw in his second son a capable, responsible, resourceful man who made decisions based on choice and conviction. Just like he had been taught. Sam had the same steely Winchester backbone.

Yes, he had done his job as a father. His ways or reasons may not have been orthodox, but there was nothing orthodox about being a Winchester. His choices had been mapped back against what he believed was right, and that was family, specifically loyalty to family. He had sewn the seeds for that exceptional bond his sons shared and they had allowed it to flourish with each other. And be damned if John was going to let these evil sons of bitches vilify it.

John's love and pride in his sons triumphed over the pain and despair Hell had buried him under, and his wall fortified some more. John began to shrug off the hold the pit had on him. His aura that was keeping evil at arms length intensified with aggression and the demons reacted instantly. They shrieked and shrunk back en masse as though they had been dosed in holy water. Their whines escalated into ranting as their frustration turned into full blown anger.

John consciously pushed his grief down. He focused his aggression because he's always felt more in control with anger than anything else. He'd lived with it for so long that it was a comfortable friend and John was master at channeling it to drive his actions. Now was the time for action. Time to get out, to get to Dean. The idea of Dean suffering alone, last Winchester standing, gave rise to deeper anger. An image slipped into his mind of its own accord. He balled his hands into tight fists as he recalled Dean's face the moment he felt his baby brother slip away. A growl worked its way up John's chest and rumbled from his throat.

Yellow eyes had been silently watching John since he uncurled himself from his collapse and they flared as the shift in John became immediately apparent. They closed the distance between them without seeming to move and invaded the man's personal space with a heat and stench that caught him unawares and sent a jolt racing down his spine.

"_Come out to play, have you John?"_

Black eyes in a mile wide radius lit up in sadistic pleasure that the games had resumed and gathered like maggots in a wound. In their eagerness to reclaim a front row seat they tore at each other and screeched as they fought.

John flinched as he felt the flames lick him in a subtle, teasing touch that made his heart pound with recognition. The flames whipped and crackled as John's fear reignited with them and left a trail of pain where they stroked him.

John felt himself slip as his attention was snatched but he refused to give himself up, so he fought harder, searching his memories for a foothold. 'You're so stubborn and single-minded!' Sam's voice rung in his archives and he clamped onto it like a life raft. Said in anger by his youngest son, it was the exactly what John needed. He used the sentiment and the warm familiar sound to haul himself back to the sanctuary behind his fortress.

Too late. A tiny crack appeared and began to spread along John's wall as he fought with all his might to remain hidden. But the digression had been noticed. The hole in John's resolve was seized by dozens of groping gnarly hands and torn wide open, and a malicious voice tinged with yellow leached its way in.

"_Time for an attitude adjustment, John,"_ yellow eyes admonished, _"a little reminder that you're not the boss around here." _

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Yellow eyes hovered around John before they moved closer, closer until it felt like they were in his skin, to whisper with self righteous sarcasm, _"I see you've been sucking on the brother bond. How's that working for you, John?"_

John's lip curled with disgust as his stomach turned at this vile turn of phrase and his anger uncurled itself and once again edged its way past his grief. He hardened his eyes to hide his fear and he met evil straight on. "It's more than you can handle, stronger than anything you got," John bit out.

"_H__ave to admit, it was a thing of power, had its perks, but it's been a real pain, ya know? But how sure of it are you, John? How sure of it are you __**now**__?"_

John's hard eyes softened as he unconsciously searched for his sons, searched for their presence which he knew he would feel. Without Hells interference he felt Dean larger than life. Dean's presence was strong, dynamic and his heartbeat echoed all around him in a strong but fast rhythm. The demonic hold lost a fraction of its strength as John locked onto Dean. Immediately he was engulfed in Dean's grief and heartache. These were the only emotions Dean had left and their intensity staggered him all over again. Abject misery. It was the only thing he could feel in his boy and he moaned out loud as he called his name "Awww, Dean…"

"_Bravo, John. __One outta two. Takes two to have the bond you're clinging to…" _the lewd comment trailed past John as a dull, murky yellow light wisped past his vision.

As natural as finding one son he searched for the other. He let his search concentrate on the gentle attributes of Sam that were easily identified. Find one, find the other. One would lead to the other. John felt his own panic start to rise when his search came up empty. He reached out again, concentrated harder. His franticness became urgency as he floundered around in the nothingness. The harder he searched, the bigger the emptiness became as nothing but silence and stillness greeted him. He felt his blood rush in his ears. His scream being to unfurl itself from deep within him.

Yellow eyes waited with sinister patience as they watched John's turmoil mount. _"Maybe you're lookin' in the wrong place, John. Try 'D' for dark, or 'V' for vicious." _

Harsh laughing erupted all around John and he scowled at the cruelty and injustice of it. The idea that anyone could describe Sam in that way made him want to tear them limb from limb. Fear and fury mixed together in his gut and he quivered with the exertion of keeping them both under control.

"_Not there? How about 'S' for savage, that's my personal favourite. We know where all that gentleness you're so fond of went when the kid got stirred up…"_

John's anger went from simmering to overdrive, and he gave freedom to his scream. Driven by his panic at being unable to locate Sam, a horrific confirmation of what he already knew, John snapped. He lunged at the yellow eyes, hands outstretched, screaming "You sonuvabitch!" as all his hatred rose to the surface in a ball of fury.

Yellow eyes were swallowed up in the sea of black, and John was ambushed as he lashed out. Hands groped him and grabbed him, halting his advance, pinning him down as he thrashed. He struggled to his feet despite the claws that raked deep into his body as he pushed passed his restrainers, his eyes blazing with hate.

The feeling of being hemmed in, trapped by the writhing cold bodies swarming in the heat drove John crazy. He moaned at this torture. He cherished his solitude, had been a man of intense privacy for most of his life, indeed his life as a hunter relied on it, and this claustrophobic existence he was forced to endure drove him mad, pushing his sanity past its limits.

The giggling and whispering that had been nonstop in his ears, a continual buzz which was impossible to block out suddenly stopped. John's panic escalated into full blown fear as he understood that it was gleeful anticipation that had silenced his captors.

"_Still can't find him, John? Let us give ya a hand with that."_

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The image that was thrown at John in wide screen hit with such a force that he was driven backwards. It came with no sound, and it was as still as he had been moments before. It filled his vision so there was no room for anything else. And because it was still, John was forced to stare and take in every shocking detail.

He bit his lip to stop the moan that immediately escaped his throat from turning into a bellyaching roar. John stared in distress at Sam lying so still…so still…

With his head turned slightly and his eyes closed, Sam was laid out on a filthy, torn mattress. His hands were across his midriff and his legs were straight out. Instantly the image had slammed into him, John knew there was something wrong.

Even before…

Even before, because he already knew…

"_No secrets here, John__."_

He would have known straight away that something was very wrong. Because Sam _never_ slept on his back. He rested or dozed on his back, but as deep sleep settled in he _always_ flipped onto his stomach and buried his head half under his pillow as he wrapped his arms around it. John's breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and groaned in distress. "No! God, no, no…" He felt the hysteria rising like bile. He knew with all his heart that this was the image he never wanted to see. Not this one…

So Hell left it on pause for the longest time.

Sam was the stillest John had ever seen him. There was no jiggling of his leg or tapping of his finger, telltale signs that he was in deep thought, his incredible intelligence at work. There was no half grin and dimples that snuck out when he was playing. There was no eye movement behind those closed lids that showed his constant dreaming because his mind could never completely shut down. There was no hazel boring into someone because passion always accompanied Sam's words.

All of it, the intelligence, the passion, the infinite patience and quick to surface impatience, the kindness, that damned trust…the spark…, was gone.

Sam was gone.

John stared at Sam's face so utterly still. Whereas Dean's face was a still mask, a masterpiece of concealment, Sam wore his heart on his sleeve. His emotions had always been there for him and Dean to see plain as day, playing out in his features without Sam's awareness, another aspect of his innocence to be mourned. John's hitched sob stole out of his throat unnoticed by him, but black eyes glowed in their approval of such unhappiness.

The incessant chatter started up again as the voice with the sneer and the yellow stare invaded John's personal space, its evilness soaking into his spine. "_Now, what were we discussing, John? Oh yes, the brother's bond. Where is it again? Where is that bond you think is your weapon?"_

John felt himself caving, his resolve battered by the image of Sam on the bed, the image he knew was Dean's reality and his wall began to crash around him. Silent tears continued their trek down his face, ignored by a man held hostage by his own grief.

"_Oh yes, that's right, we broke it."_

The little crack in John's wall morphed into a fissure and all John's carefully built defenses came crashing down. Evil bombdived back into John's soul like it owned it.

"_T__hat's right, John, because we do own it. Paid for fair and square."_

John ignored that taunt, ignored it because it didn't register. All he could see was Sam.

"_Pay attention, John, the shows far from over." _Demon chortle rang out and John felt himself stiffen in dread, his worn heart beating fast with his distress. _"The sequel is a blockbuster, starts off a little slow but the ending has our critics all hot and sweaty."_

John's howl of grief started deep in his belly and reverberated in his throat before he threw his head back in horror as the first image assaulted him.

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The forced and prolonged image of Sam's body that Hell made sure was burned into his brain shifted to give John a broader view. His eyes flew wide and he gasped at the sight of Dean leaning into a doorframe staring at Sam. Staring, just like he was.

"Oh God…"

It hit John that Dean had been sharing the same heartbreaking scene and his heart shattered for his eldest boy. What was in Dean's heart was all over his pale face. John looked in his empty stare, his huge desolate watery eyes, his eyelids heavy and puffy from his sobbing, his lips alternating between clenched and stiff and quivering, and knew without a doubt that Dean was barely holding it together. John was watching Dean use every ounce of his self control to stop himself falling in a heap. He couldn't help but marvel at his son's endurance and strength.

"_The dialogue here is riveting, __John, award winning stuff. My colleagues here will translate for you, subtitles if you like, help you along a bit."_

Dean's traumatised voice burst in John's ears with the close ups of Dean's face in agony, and he fell back to his knees at the anguish he heard so clearly.

'You know when we were little, when you couldn't have been more than five, you just started asking questions.'

"_He was never one to shut up, was he John? Questions, questions, questions. Musta driven Dean nuts."_

Seeing Dean so destroyed was unbearable. Hearing him voicing his heart to his dead brother's body was beyond cruelty. John let him arms hang listlessly by his sides as his chin dropped to his chest in defeat. "Please, no…don't…"

"_Keep up John, or the ending won't make sense." _The demon grinned sardonically and the demon pack prattle its agreement.

"_Not to mention seeing you and Dean like this, all that Winchester stoic turned to blubbering, it's just too good to pass up."_

John tried so hard to switch off. Hearing Dean so distraught as he poured out his heart in an almost private conversation was soul destroying, but evil had its hold and they turned the volume up.

'How come we didn't have a mom?'

"_Coz she burnt on the ceiling when she wouldn't mind her own business."_

'Why do we always have to move around?'

"_That's easy John. You weren't the caring type father. No brainer.__ Surely Dean could'a figured that one out. Sam sure did."_

'Where'd Dad go…when he'd take off for days at a time?'

"_Why John, you get a cameo appearance as the neglectful father abandoning his children."_

'I remember I begged you 'quit asking Sammy, man you don't wanna know.'

"_Ah, but Sammy never knew when to quit asking, did he John? Like a terrier with a bone, just couldn't let go. Forced Dean's hand at every turn. From hounding him to puppy dog eyes he was the master manipulator."_

'I just wanted you to be a kid, just for a little while longer.'

"_Sam was quite the spoiled brat wasn't he, John? Over indulged and pampered, no wonder he fell so easily."_

'I always tried to protect you…keep you safe.'

"_And we know how that ended. Soldier-boy was off his game, AWOL. Gotta admit, it was easier without the ever-present pitbull."_

'Dad didn't even have to tell me, it was just always my responsibility, you know. It's like I had one job…I had one job…And I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that I'm sorry.'

The demonic rent-a-crowd missed nothing and pounced on Dean's self recriminations to hurl them at John with barbs. _"Blew it screwed it up, blew it screwed it up, blew it screwed it up…" _They chanted it repetitively until it was pitch fever and it grated on John's raw nerves. His need to protect and reassure Dean from the sting of his own self-accusation zinged in his veins.

I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love.'

Dean caught his breath and it tore into John.

Yellow eyes took advantage of Dean's self-loathing and rammed his words at John with spiteful force._ "Well, that one __is__ hard to deny, John, his track record does speak for itself. The line of casualties is pretty impressive." _

'I let Dad down, and now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down too. How can I? How my supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do? Sammy…God.. What am I supposed to do?'

John watched in horror as Dean's pain twisted his face and he pitched his head from side to side in grief induced rage. He watched that rage build inside Dean until he yelled out in a bellow of pure despair and John's fear that Hell was about to drop a bomb ticked within him.

And John knew the exact moment that bomb went off because Dean snapped right in front of his eyes.

'**WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?'**

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The weight of evil became unbearable as it wrapped itself around John and painted everything it touched black.

Well…not everything black.

John was stunned when the hue around him suddenly glowed red. Eyes the colour of blood appeared directly in front of his face and stared him down with malice and intensity. They stood out in the sea of black tainted with yellow and John's shocked mind registered them with terror.

"_And the Academy Award for collecting Winchester souls goes to ………" _The red eyes glowed in John's face, twinkling like rubies in their demented pleasure. _"Ready to watch the performance of a lifetime, John?_

This time John bypassed dread and went straight to panic. He had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going, recognised Dean's inconsolable desperation because he had felt it himself once before.

Red glowing eyes confirmed his prediction.

"_Or should I say…of Hell's eternity?"_

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TBC

Many thanks for reading. Special thanks to my reviewers and to those of you who have put my fic on alert, I really appreciate you all.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: I think it's time John got out, don't you?

Verse towards end of story from "Desperado" by the Eagles

BIG RECOMMENDATION: If you REALLY want to get into the mood of this chapter, go and watch Wolfpup's SongVid "Desperado" first. Wolfpup has done an amazing job in capturing the essence that is John Winchester and it fits my fic like it was made for it. Plus I just adore her work!

(wolfpupsden.us/ ) scroll down home page, click on 'Past Vids", click on "Song Vids 13-24" second clip down.

To my readers and especially my reviewers, I cannot thank you enough. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Because I've never written before, this has been a long, hard slog, but you have made it all worth it.

Spoilers: AHBL Part 1 and 2

Lyrics from Bat Out Of Hell by Meatloaf

Thanks to Kripke and Co for lending me the boys and especially John.

The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell

By Cookie6

Chapter Five

Like a bat out of hell  
I'll be gone when the morning comes.  
When the night is over  
Like a bat out of hell  
I'll be gone gone gone.  
Like a bat out of hell  
I'll be gone when the morning comes.  
But when the day is done and the sun goes down,  
and the moonlights shining through,  
Then like a sinner before the gates of heaven,  
I'll come crawling on back to you.

**Meat Loaf - Bat Out of Hell**

"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?"

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"_Here he comes, John, just like you knew he would."_

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The shrapnel from Dean's emotional bomb exploding blasted into John's head, a sight and sound spectacular of overlapped images which blurred the lines of meaning. He grabbed at his head and moaned, grimacing, no escaping the pain their pressure caused. He doubled over in an attempt to appease the ache in his heart and the pain in his head. Groaning out loud, John concentrated on separating the blinding collage so he could try and make sense out of bedlam. He fought to ignore the heat and pain from the flames that worked to distract him, whipping him each time he recognised an image or a sound. With immense effort he managed to grasp onto familiar snippets as they flashed by.

"Oh God…" The Impala in full flight. He saw and heard it amidst all the noise and visual anarchy. John caught flashes of sleek black metal racing in the moonlight. The revving of the engine was excruciatingly loud in his ears. Red eyes, no, red brake lights torpedoed across his vision making him throw his hands across his face as they fishtailed towards him. He blanched as the high pitch squeal of spinning tires biting into tar grated on his fragile nerves. He watched with dread as the big car fought to stay on the road.

But what made it all so unbearable was the emotional bleakness that overpowered the whole scene. Dean's grief and agony saturated him, his hurt and loss so great that John's chest constricted with the weight of it. It was like nothing John had ever experienced yet everything like he knew it would be.

"No, Son," he breathed, as he watched his remaining child, the very last of his family, unleash three hundred plus horsepower towards his brother's salvation and his own doom.

John stood in helpless silence and watched the endless journey through the endless night. Hell made sure he suffered every mile. They bashed him with the unrelenting throb of Dean's thumping heartbeat and labored breathing with the roar of eight cylinders pumping at full throttle.

John watched man and machine. They both exuded strength and power beneath a hard unyielding exterior as they worked together towards a shared destination. Two deadpan eyes staring straight ahead were mirrored by two headlights showing the way. They were the alter egos of each other, they belonged together, relying on each other. Both able to erupt into immediate action from a silent standstill, both a force to be reckoned with. Right now, the machine was all speed and roar, the man all stillness and silence. John knew where the machine was going, what the man was planning, and his suspicion turned into absolute bone deep certainty.

Sam's absence from the passenger seat screamed at John and Dean alike.

John just knew in Dean he was looking at the calm before the storm.

"No…please…don't let him…" He found himself begging, pleading, too afraid for his boy to care. The animated chatter amplified around him, intensifying the feel of evil that blanketed him.

As quickly as it started, the kaleidoscope of images was replaced by a single scene and John was unprepared for the change. John was thrown from mind numbing noise to absolute silence that was as deafening as the mad ride through the night had been. He slowly uncurled his body and stood upright but his stomach remained clenched in a knot of anxiety.

John stared at Dean standing in the middle of some crossroads in the middle of God-knows-where. His face was a rigid mask of determination.

"_Atta boy, Dean, come home to Daddy__,"_ evil whispered past John's ear.

Dean stepped up to the plate as only Dean knew how. His jade green eyes locked with blood red eyes in a stare of mutual hate. John was overwhelmed with how fragile his son looked even though his vibes of agitation and hatred were strong. John unconsciously took a step forward as his grief soared to anger in an instant. This time his anger was directed at Dean. He knew exactly what his intention was and he yelled his order from years of hunting as a team, expecting instant compliance. "Dean! Back off!"

"_Come on, John, you know he'll pick Sam over you, even if he could hear you." _Yellow eyes threw its accusation in John's face and black eyes flared in excitement. _"He's doing what you trained him to do. Sam first, despite the fact that you always knew it would be his downfall."_

John tried to ignore that vicious twist that turned love and a need protect borne of that love into premeditated sacrifice, but it was _so damned_ hard and his gut reacted like a knife had stabbed him. The pain it caused was intense. He concentrated on his anger instead, allowing him single minded focus. "NO!" His yell ripped out of his throat in a guttural growl that echoed in Hell's chambers. His fists curled so tight that his nails drew blood in his palms. Black eyed fascination immediately switched to his hands and John shrunk back from their sniffling and licking.

And as John watched with horror, his eldest son bartered his life away for his brother.

He watched with sadness as Dean allowed the red eyed bitch to demean and corner him, gaining the upper hand with every degrading word. He watched with panic as the price whittled down to a single year in a young life in its prime. "No…" this time John's denial was a soft cry of sadness and dismay, his anger deflating in defeat. "Jeez, Dean…no, please don't…"

"_Really__, John, this is the pot calling the kettle black."_

He sucked in his breath with a loud hiss as the deal was sealed. He watched as Dean sealed his fate to an eternity in Hell without a seconds hesitation.

Hellfire roared like a fireworks display and demons shrieked their ecstasy in unison. John was paralyzed by the sheer force of Hell's exultation.

Hell now had both his sons in their grubby hands. Both condemned to a life dictated by evil. Dean on a timeline, Sam as a pawn in their plan. John's heart shattered all over again. What more did they want from him? Wasn't Mary enough? Now both his children? John stood rooted to the spot, too overwhelmed to do anything but stare. His hate of all things evil burned in his craw, and his eyes shone with his hatred for all to see.

Red eyes swung back into John's dazed face with a proximity that was meant to intimidate. They glowed like fresh blood with smugness. He hardened his heart and steeled his spine in immediate reaction. "You'll pay," John's deep voice promised as he leaned into the red stare. He reached out to grab with murderous intent but the cross roads demon anticipated his threat and shimmied back into the pit, victory dancing in its bloody eyes.

"_Lighten up, John," _it patronized as it retreated._ "It's a better deal than you ever got."_

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John sucked in a harsh breath as Sam sucked in a life giving breath. John in shock, Sam in bewilderment. John sobbed in ironic relief as Sam's eyes flew wide and his chest expanded. John's sobs were a mix of absolute gratitude and heartbreaking grief and he acknowledged both as he broke down completely.

He watched in awe as Dean walked through a door and froze at the sight of his little brother standing. It was obvious to John that knowing the outcome of his deal and seeing it were two different things for Dean. He was not surprised to see him struggle to control his emotions. John smiled a soft smile at this classic Dean reaction and Hell recoiled at this genuine show of happiness in a place where happiness did not survive.

The strong beat of two hearts flowed over John as Dean stepped forward and embraced his brother. The last time Dean had embraced his brother with this much emotion was when he had died in his arms. Dean knew it. John knew it. His son's tired face flashed his love and relief for the briefest of moments before the mask came down, but John saw it all even if Sam did not.

John understood that Dean that made the only decision he could, because he had been there himself. The lump in his throat told him he didn't have to like it to understand it and his hate for the demon that had caused this ending rose and engulfed him as he continued to watch his sons.

John was a man who believed in choice and right now he chose to embrace his hatred and rage. He felt it flowing through his veins. This never ending rollercoaster of grief, pain and helplessness to anger and rage that Hell was controlling was nailing him down. He was exhausted from being thrown from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other with his sons as Hell's weapon of choice.

He was a soldier not ready to stand down, and Hell was in for a world of trouble.

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As a father the images had all but destroyed him, impeding his ability to think and his ability to fight. His reactions as a father had been perceived as weaknesses which had allowed the demons to burrow in. John knew what he needed to do. He was master at not letting his heart rule his head, years of perfected practice which he knew he needed now more than ever.

He hardened his heart to the terrible pain the images had inflicted. He harnessed all he knew that made him a hunter. He let instinct and lifestyle take over. He made a choice and a choice meant a plan. And he chose his sons.

Utilising his hunter brain, John's plan took form. The beginning of any plan was recon and intel and John was nothing if not methodical. He knew he needed to look past his immediate position. Hell had been thorough in making sure John's painful and tortured existence was kept close, entombed behind the moat of his agony. With this block removed from his perception, John scoped and took notice of everything he had been unable to notice before.

Narrowing his eyes John surveyed his environment. He needed to look past the pain and torment if he was to fight. Know your enemy and your environment was rule number one in any battle, and John was a stickler for the rules.

A Winchester smirk was the first outwardly sign in the darkness, one corner of his mouth lifting in a crocodile smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His body may be in lockdown, his heart in shock but his mind was racing. John's hunter brain was working strategy. It was time to fight back.

As John stared intently, his surroundings began to take shape. It was dark alright, but not the inky, thick blackness that had kept him as its prisoner. John began to make out shape and form as he used the observation skills of the soldier he was. He eyeballed the prowling demons and scowled as they took form. He knew of their claws and their strength because of the repeated pain and groping he had been subjected to, but closer inspection revealed them to look as evil as they felt, as they sounded, as they smelt.

John saw gnarled, twisted bodies, human in form - face, torso, limbs - but any resemblance to human ended there. Their scowling faces were all jutting bone and discolored fangs, distorted and deformed expressions twisted permanently by the absence of a human soul. John watched their faces violently contort as the moans and screeches escaped their grimacing mouths.

Their hands were gnarled and rigid, bony knuckles protruding, talons and claws raking the air around them, raking themselves, raking each other. They arched their spiny bodies into unnatural positions as they moved in a slow evil dance of agony around each other, mindful of only their own path to nowhere. Their blotchy skin stretched and split over their ribbed frames as they threw back their heads and screwed their backs. John gaped at their foul forms in stunned disbelief.

But it was their eyes that held him transfixed.

John sucked in his breath at the sight of evil so pure radiating in those black stares. He realised the glowing and blazing he had seen in those eyes as they tortured and tormented him was nothing more than the reflected flares of hellfire, the pit making itself known via its inhabitants. In reality those eyes were absolutely stone dead – hollow, flat, void of life.

John recoiled at the horror of what he was seeing. He knew evil beings, had put plenty of them down, but to see so many, in one place at once, was beyond horrifying. He felt his own face register his shock, unprepared for the sight before him. He thought he was pretty immune to what evil could conjure up but a lifetime of hunting had not prepared him for this. His shock leapt out of him in a current of high voltage and the thronging creatures all swung their faces to him simultaneously. Hundreds of those void eyes locked onto John, his show of vulnerability attracting their immediate interest.

In that instant anger swelled in John, white hot anger so intense that he could barely contain it and he struggled for self control. Anger that Dean would be here, would be subjected to this torture chamber of horrors, to see Hell in all its gore, was not an option. At the moment Dean was living hell on earth and John was determined that Dean would not experience it for real. The need to protect his son from this fate overwhelmed him and threatened to once more erode his carefully constructed wall. Instead John redirected his emotions. John's anger overtook his shock and the staring demons resumed their prowling with added frustration that their morsel of misery had vanished.

John continued his field recon with the cold, calculating eye of a seasoned soldier. He looked further and honed his senses.

It became clear to John that the thick black smoke was how they escaped Hells' cage, the way they invaded helpless humans to walk the earth and do their dirty work while their grotesque bodies were trapped in the pit. But here, John could see them, could touch them. Gnarled, grotesque bodies were still bodies, and bodies could be destroyed. As he had told his boys over and over, if you can touch it, you can kill it. John knew this was an option because he had killed a handful of these evil psychos when he had snapped before. But he knew he needed to be more effective because the odds weren't on his side.

Another flare of light illuminated the disgusting faces around him. The darkness was frequently lit by the flaring of flames which at first glance appeared to come from nowhere. They licked walls, hung from the roof and rose from the floor with evil regularity that gave off a dull, punishing hue. The more intense flames flicked at the demons themselves, even seemed to target them, and John realised their screams were a reaction to the pain the flames inflicted as a normal part of being here. His heart lurched again with the horror that Dean was now destined be part of this normal and he intensified his scanning.

His gaze was drawn to the largest most aggressive flames and John squinted as he watched them. He saw the swirl of fiery colours lashing out with astonishing force from a central source and realised that he was looking at the pit itself. Filth and evil spewed from its bowels and John realised with abhorrence that some of the demons were gravitating towards it. To his amazement he watched as they let themselves fall down into it, their demented voices joining those who had succumbed before them. "Oh God!" a whispered plea escaped John's lips as he fought the mental image of Dean's tortured body falling into this abyss of misery and pain. "No, no, no, no….." John steeled his mind back to the job at hand – get to his boys.

He observed and took in details he had been unable to notice before. His prison had walls. It reminded him of a cave, but without the majesty and wonder of Mother Nature at her best. It was just a hole. Nothing more than a damn hole. The walls were gouged dirt and mud, scored with ruts and gashes, the result demonic vandalism. John followed the walls with his eyes to discover tunnels and openings everywhere. '_A fucking rabbit warren'_ was the thought that leapt into John's astonished mind but his eyes betrayed nothing of his thinking.

John's practiced eye logged details. He took notice of the direction of the walls, the location of the openings, the distances between them. He strategically filed away crucial details, plotted routes and calculated times. He allowed himself a smirk as enemy territory became a familiar map in his mind.

He was surprised to hear sounds beyond the sniveling and the whining, beyond the chatter and the sinister chuckling. He heard moaning. It was barely discernible amongst the screams and the shrieks. The harder he listened, the clearer it became.

John further honed his sight in an effort to locate its source. Finding nothing, he closed his eyes and allowed his hearing to sharpen. Another skill which John had armed his kids with was to remember you had five senses, and each one was an asset to be used to a hunter's advantage. John tuned into his hearing and turned his head to the direction of the moaning. He zeroed in and opened his eyes, knowing his pupils were adjusting to his target.

What John saw rocked him to his core. Huddled into corners, curled against walls or writhing on the ground were _people_. John stared, caught totally off guard. Their moans were interspersed with screams and yells and they exuded pure agony. John noticed their varying states of physical form and physically recoiled. It took him a while to comprehend what he was seeing – humans in various states of physical and mental decay, their humanity being stripped from their souls, leaving only the evil that had sent them here. Souls who had landed here by way of evil human existence. Those who had inflicted horrors upon their fellow man or whose lives had benefited from the agony of others. But John also knew he was seeing those who had sold their souls. And Hell wasn't discriminating between those who had embraced the dark side without fully realizing how high the price and those who had made the deal with their eyes and hearts wide open. Those whose drive was love not power. Those like Dean. No, Hell didn't discriminate how you got here.

John was watching Hell collecting on debts. He was watching humanity being stripped from tortured bodies, from breaking hearts and from distressed minds. Those not too far gone were fighting back, desperately clinging to the good in them, but to no avail. The transformation was harsh, painful, terrifying and permanent.

John's need to get out took on a whole new meaning. Not for himself. But for Dean, to keep him out of here and for Sam who would die trying to keep him out.

The price of John's plan was now higher than it ever would be. He would make sure that Dean was never here, and that Sam would not follow him with a life condemned to walking hell on earth if he failed. To do that he needed to get out. Now. A Winchester on a mission was a formidable enemy, and that made the odds a little more even.

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John knew the time was now. His mental trigger finger was itchy and he felt the familiar rush of adrenalin that always signaled the start of a hunt.

His recon had netted two very important observations. Vital information that John knew offered an opportunity and a risk. John had noticed the yellow eyed absence immediately. Not only the obvious in that its taunts had ceased and the yellow hue had disappeared, but the black eyed ratpack around him had reverted to its meaningless ramblings and wanderings.

John had observed that the demons ramped up with the torments of the yellow eyes, piggy backing on its cruelty rather than instigating their own. They bounced off its taunts like school yard bullies. Without the yellow eyes to kick start them they became mindless and disorganized.

His second observation made his blood run cold with worry. He had also observed that the demonic plague around him was restless, and their restlessness had been growing steadily. His hunter radar was on high alert with the suspicion that Hell's unrest and the yellow eyed demon's absence were related. The reason for the demon's disappearance made John's gut clench in fear. Terror that it involved his sons was buzzing through him, setting his nerves on edge.

On the other hand, John knew that the demon was confident it had beaten him to a pulp with its debilitating images of his youngest son's murdered body and his eldest's deal to save him, that it didn't consider him to be a risk.

John allowed his smirk to take over his whole face. Yes, the odds were getting better all the time.

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Summoning a lifetime of hatred and anger for the life destroying bastard with the yellow eyes and an all consuming loathing of all things evil, John stepped out from behind his wall. Fuelled by his love for his sons and their mother, and a need for payback for the wasted lives of Caleb and Jim, John let Hell see him in all his wrath.

His eyes that had been in lockdown changed and every evil being around John knew it. The blankness of his eyes while he had been in shut down was gone. The softness of his eyes while he had been in despair had disappeared. They had turned black. Not black and lifeless like the demonic horde around him. Not black and shiny like demonic possession. The blackness of John's eyes had depth that sparkled with danger and promised menace.

Instantly the demon's shrieking hit high pitch and they lurched away from the danger, tripping and jostling in their chaos. They sprang away from John for a brief minute like cats on a hot tin roof. But like cats, morbid curiosity got the better of them and they returned to sniff and prowl.

John's mind and body worked as one and he used their commotion as cover as he moved toward the pit with a suddenness that caught the thronging demonic crowd by surprise. They whirled around at his abrupt movement and fled after him. John cut his eyes upwards as he ran and then ducked into the nearest tunnel, flattening himself against the cold earth wall. He schooled his emotions and once more retreated into his emotional shell, hiding himself from the pursuing mass.

Their confusion was instantaneous and they turned on each other with viciousness and frustration.

John had achieved two elements of his plan. His upward glance had confirmed there was a gate to the topside and he had secured its location, his single half nod to himself his only outward acknowledgement of this fact. It was directly above the pit. He also understood he could make the demons turn on each other if he stirred the pot by fuelling their frustration with confusion.

John went over his plan once more in his head. He knew it would come down to careful execution and the ability to wing it on the run once things turned bad. And they would turn bad.

John took a moment to remember Dean's face as he walked in that door and saw his baby brother standing after his deal had been sealed. He again saw Dean's relief and emotion as he embraced Sam like he was never going to let go. John smiled as he saw his sons bond restored, the living connection which Hell had inadvertently reminded him of by revealing that image. Designed to cut him down, it instead gave him courage and purpose. John took one more look at his sons…

…and then exploded.

He launched himself in the direction of the gate with a roar that came from deep inside him. He didn't get far before he found himself in the middle of a raging pack of black eyed wolves. They grabbed and clawed at him but John was ready. He lashed out with everything he had. He used his hands to strike and punch, his legs to kick and maim. Where he could grab, he shredded and tore and ripped. He felt limbs and heads separate and necks twist and snap. He felt lifeless bodies beneath his grasp as he pushed and fought his way closer to the gate.

Caught up in the heat of the battle, demons counteracted by striking back. And as John predicted, they didn't care who or what they attacked in their efforts to shred him. They connected with each other with deadly accuracy and John heard their screams of rage and fury as they got swept away in the violence and brutality. He ignored the pain they inflicted and concentrated on pushing his way forward. The stench of sulphur filled the air, thick and suffocating, leaching from demonic flesh in increasing amounts. Inch by inch, John dragged the fight towards his destination. As the body count stockpiled John became increasingly aware that he wasn't making any headway in thinning their numbers. If anything, more and more demons joined the fray, incited by the noise and the stench and the killing.

Flames roared from every conceivable corner and as they too appeared to join the fight adding their torture to the mix. The screeching became unbearable and John resisted the urge to cover his ears and curl up into a ball. Instead he fought harder and added to the bodies littering the ground.

For what seemed like eternity John thrashed and struggled in a battle where the only way out for either side was death. And John made sure that death came swiftly and immediately to anything that came between him and the only way back to his boys. He cried out in pain every time his body was raked and yelled every time he was struck but he hadn't been kidding when he instilled in his sons that if you're gunna go down, you go down swinging. And John was a man who lived by example.

Reaching the edge of the flaming pit, John threw himself upwards, arms and legs scrambling for purchase as he attempted to scale the wall. Scrawny, sharp hands dragged him back down and he wrestled as he landed roughly on his back amidst the writhing brawl. Desperately fighting his way to his feet he climbed the fleshy, bony mass, using them as a demonic ladder as he again scaled the wall towards freedom, towards Dean and Sam.

The struggle was so draining – each time he got dragged down it took more and more effort to struggle out and climb back up. To put so much effort in for so little gain threatened to erode his resolve, but quitting was not an option because John would never quit on his boys. He grit his teeth, channeled his hatred and fought back harder.

He was making slow progress when everything changed. The change was not subtle but drastic and extreme. John's alarm spiked with his dread that Yellow Eyes had returned but the feeling around him was too excitable, too dramatic …

The screaming that fuelled their attacks turned into an excited babbling as the black eyes that had been focused entirely on John suddenly began sweeping around, frantic and erratic as they searched for whatever had snatched their attention. Their interest went from the common focus of annihilating John as a demonic herd, to scattered individuals moving at random, clueless as what they were searching for. But what they all had in common was they were looking upwards, their black eyes scanning the roof in all directions. Fear shivered up John's spine as he watched the demons movements become more and more frantic. They knew something was going down and John knew from their freaking that it was going to be big. John's alarm notched up until fear was parallel with his fury. His heart pounded at a million miles an hour as he took advantage of the demonic side track and frantically continued his climb.

John's climb was abruptly halted as a loud noise rang out above his head. A loud click resounded around the murky walls and was soon followed by the whirling of metal cogs spinning against each other. The demons fell silent for a fraction of a second, then erupted in screaming and yelling that went beyond John's tolerance level. The noise bombarded his senses, enough to drive his teetering sanity over the edge. John froze mid-climb and stared at the chaos around him in shock.

The atmosphere was electric with tension. Slivers of black fog began to fill the air as demons began to exit their gnarly bodies. It started off as a wisp here and there but soon streams of zooming black smoke were cascading around him. They ducked and weaved aimlessly, seemingly lost as they jostled each other but carefully avoided him. The rivulets of black, each a separate entity on its own, soon mingled and choked the air, filling the cavern like a single evil storm cloud. John was transfixed at the sight when again the scraping of wood and metal made him tear his eyes upward.

John suddenly knew what had revved the demon's excitement into hyperdrive. He watched as circular patterns carved into the gate began to spin. Circles spun as their cogs sought each other out, circles set inside each other as individuals but with the destiny to become one. To John's amazement they began to fit together with the intimacy of lovers.

As each cog fell into place with a definite click the demonic frenzy skyrocketed. John knew with certainty that he was watching the gate unlock. And he got that Hell knew it too. He also knew it was being unlocked from the outside, that something big was going on topside.

With mindblowing clarity John suddenly knew the whereabouts of his yellow eyed nemesis.

And with that mindblowing clarity the final piece of Hades plan of last child standing made sickening sense. The ultimate purpose for this whole goddamn evil, sorrowful mess his family had been dragged into. To lead an army there had to be an army. And John was watching it right now as it went crazy. He was watching that army as a mass of writhing bodies and jet streaming black smoke, all gunning for the gate. He was suckerpunched with the enormity of it. He felt sick, ill to his stomach.

And with mindblowing clarity John also knew that his boys were on the other side of that gate. He chose to use that knowledge to power him rather than crush him.

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As the spinning and clicking began to slow down, Hell froze in anticipation. Hundreds of coal sockets pinned their stares on the slowing wheels. Even the swirling lines of black appeared to be in slow motion. Time stood still as the final spinning cogs aligned and clicked into place. John froze with them, unsure what to do, what would happen next, only knowing that it was going to be massive.

_CLICK_

The final click echoed like a whip crack in the silence. Even the flames seemed to hover. The double-door gate swung open with a loud, steady creak. "Goddamn," John's face reflected his astonishment as he spied the colt hanging from the ancient lock in one of the doors, mid-centre of the inner most circle. "It's a fucking key?"

The gate was now wide open.

And Hell went on a rampage.

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The holocaust was instantaneous. All of Hell trying to escape at once erupted like an evil volcano spewing its poisonous load. John was engulfed as the mass exodus bolted for the opening in a tidal wave of hot air, thrusting bodies and streams of thick black smoke.

He was again scratched and torn only this time he wasn't the demon's target, he was in their way. They trampled him, digging their limbs into him for leverage with savage selfishness. He was carried upwards by the storm only to be trodden back down in the hysteria. The contrast of the intense hot wind from the pit as hundreds of demons whooshed past with a frigid blast assaulted John as he struggled to sustain his footing. Demons where the smoke hadn't yet released itself moaned and began the physical ascent with John, some of them throwing back their heads as the sooty smoke spewed into the air mid-flight. Those in the process of having their humanity stripped clawed their way up the walls like spiny insects. A mass exit of the despicable, their speed matching their desperation and John was swept along with the turbulence as Hell's army cut its path of violence and destruction.

He felt his panic start to drown him as loss of control and a plan blown to the weeds swirled in his brain. "Dean…Sam…" he gave his panic voice with the only two words that mattered. And then he understood…

Out was out, no matter how you got there. The gate was open, and he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His panic dissolved instantly and he beat the demonic inmates at their own game. He clawed, he trod, he grappled. He used every means he had to climb out of that damn hole, to climb his way towards freedom, towards his boys.

He had tried to protect those boys from that yellow eyed monster their whole lives, and be damned he would protect them in death as well. He needed to keep his sons alive so they could fight Dean's deal together. To lose one would mean the loss of both. Not just emotionally because John knew from a lifetime of being their father that one would not survive without the other. Dean's deal was hard proof of that. But because saving Dean from the pit was also about saving Sam. His need to keep Dean from the torture of Hell was also about keeping Sam from a life of sorrow, guilt and misery.

And John had first hand experience of both. He knew what it was like to watch a soul mate die violently and painfully and then have to live without them forever. He knew what it was like to suffer in Hell and be tortured with grief and anguish forever. And he knew he would do everything he could to make sure these boys who were nothing but good and honorable and decent did not suffer the same fate.

So John fought and climbed because his boy's lives depended on him getting out. And John had something else in his favor - it was not his style lay down and die.

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John struggled to gain his bearings, having no idea where he was. The chill of fresh air felt strange and foreign against his skin as a harsh wind whipped the night. He was surprised that he could detect the physical world and he savored the sensation as it washed over him. It didn't exactly touch him, more like whispered over him, but he felt it the same. He relished its coolness after the stinging heat of Hellfire which had deliberately lashed and punished him for so long.

It had all happened so fast. In a stunned daze John surveyed his surroundings. One moment he was fighting for his freedom in a prison of flesh and bone, the next he was standing alone and unnoticed in a decrepit graveyard.

A Hell induced electrical storm raged viciously into the night. Thunder rumbled nonstop, a low threatening growl that beat time with the roar of the flames that loomed from the opened gate. John's eyes followed the sound and he stared as Hellfire strained to reach beyond the gate, its embers glowing orange and black as it egged its escapees on. Lightening ripped the air and scarred the night with its lashes. John stood silently and took it all in.

The stench of death and decay overwhelmed the cool, crisp night air as demons in various forms raced in every direction. They invaded the earth in a frantic melee of criss-crossing black smog and rushing white apparitions not yet shed of their humanity. Sulphur fumes wafted in their wake. Confusion reined as the crazed mob moved faster than the eye could see, gravitating with a sixth sense towards the broken iron railway tracks they sensed were out there, then out into the world without restraint. Still, John stood silently and took it all in.

He stood among the chaos, calmed his heartbeat, and searched for his sons.

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Catching his breath with a loud hiss, John saw immediately that he had emerged in the height of a battle. His eyes hardened as he saw that once again in this never-ending Winchester nightmare, his sons were fighting for their lives. He felt his anger as a physical heat. It permeated his entire body as it cursed through every part of him making him aware of his physical self outside his mind.

That yellow eyed bastard _was_ here with his sons. Claiming their destinies wasn't enough. Evil wanted them to suffer all the way and was making sure that the road to Hell was paved with as much pain, agony and misery as it could throw at them.

No Hell-visions this time. John was watching with his own eyes.

In an instant he took it all in. With the flick of a demonic wrist Dean was being held down and while Sam was struggling valiantly to close the gate with – was that Bobby and Ellen? He shifted his gaze back and forth between them and his fury exploded within him.

Dean was pinned to a headstone, knocked to a sitting position as he struggled to fight off unconsciousness. He was bruised and battered and his face was bleeding but that wasn't what triggered John's shock. It was the utter look powerlessness laced with hate that caught John's breath. He could see Dean's anguish at being held down, how he detested being helpless and at the mercy of someone else's whim, how scared he was that he was unable to fight for Sam. It hit John then that Hell would be all this and more for his boy, that what he had experienced in Hell's clutches would be nothing compared to what Dean would feel. John saw it all in heartbreaking clarity shining in Dean's wide and glaring eyes. His lips trembled with barely contained emotion and John could see his strength and vulnerability all at once. Dean's body was down for the count but his fighting spirit was rearing to go. John knew he needed to help unleash that fighting spirit.

He flicked his gaze to his youngest son. He knew Sam would sense the instant Dean was in trouble, the boy's connection never failed. Within seconds Sam's head shot up and John watched panic settle over his features as he witnessed his brother struggling for awareness. Sam screaming his sibling's name made the hairs on John's neck prickle. His heart constricted as he saw that panic turn to absolute horror as shocked hazel eyes clashed with smug yellow ones.

When Sam attempted to rush at the demon to protect his brother, the demon raised its arm and flung him backwards at phenomenal speed pinning him to a tree. Sam grunted his pain and John saw his face contort with helplessness as he too watched the demon with absolute hate on his face.

John tried to move, to shout out, but found his form not responsive to this corporeal world. His terror spiked and he scowled at his inability to help his sons.

His anger at seeing both his boys trapped at the demon's mercy consumed him and he struggled to gain control of his body, willing it to move in a way that felt unfamiliar and difficult.

When evil began its emotional torment a year before it had any claim, John commanded his new form to move. His need to end this was strong and his frustration at his inability to save his sons clawed at him. Yellow eyes in human form taunted Dean, like a cat toying with a mouse before the kill. That smarmy voice that had crushed John time and time again with its insidious comments had Dean in its sights early. His boy remained silent and John could see his defenses were at breaking point, barely able to stand the onslaught of the cruel taunts the demon hurled at him. Dean's lips and chin trembled as he fought to keep his emotions from spilling.

John watched in utter disbelief as that bastard with the yellow eyes took a step back and aimed the colt at Dean. The thought that his son would die by _this_ gun, the only weapon that they had ever had to combat this evil sonofabitch, the gun that turned out to be the key to the end of the world, turned John murderous. The feeling unfurled in pit of his stomach like a serpent and coiled its way through his body, giving life to his struggle to gain control of his ethereal form.

The smell of victory fuelled the demon's arrogance and it pulled out its trump card, its final parting shot before it pulled the trigger. John felt his heart shatter as he heard it taunt Dean with the words he knew above all else would cut Dean to the quick and he grimaced at the cruelty of them.

"_I couldn't have done it without your pathetic__, self loathing, self destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family." _

John watched as these venomous words cut a swathe across Dean's heart, knew they'd hit their mark by the look of utter devastation that rolled across Dean's face. That this yellow eyed monster would take the very attribute that gave this man honor and decency and twist it into something disgusting to be used a weapon for evil, was all that John needed. He felt the power flow through his body.

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He once again channeled his hatred for this thing - his regret for the life his sons had been forced to lead, his grief for the loss of his wife and his children's mother and his love for these brave boys – and he gave it legs. He gathered his inner strength into a surge of energy and he lunged.

He wrapped his arms around the human this demon had stolen and dragged it away from Dean with all the strength his heart gave him. Immediately the demon retaliated by escaping its human, but John knew to hang onto its demonic form. He was not shocked that the black smoke had substance he could touch, his battle before the gate opened revealed he had that power. And John was a quick learner.

He felt its wrath immediately as it fought back and he strained to hold on tighter. John struggled with it, trying for all he was worth to keep it away from its host and away from his boys. They twisted and turned together, John knowing this really was the do or die battle and there would never be a second chance for his sons if he failed. Its evilness gave it amazing strength and John hung on as long as he could before centuries of practice moving in and out of corporeal being won the moment and John was hurled backwards. Instantly the demon made a bee line for its host, ramming itself down the unconscious man's throat with unbelievable speed, the yellow eyes re-igniting.

John prepared to launch, once again prepared to defend his boys with all he had in him as he watched the host, yellow eyes gleaming, rise to its feet,. He was momentarily stunned as he realised the demon had halted where it stood, yellow eyes bulging with fear and surprise.

John's eyes followed its stare. Amazement mingled with pride as he took in his son. Dean had the colt aimed at the demon, cocking the safety, a look of pure grit on his face.

"Now, Son," his heart sang and Dean unknowingly followed John's last order.

As John watched, Dean's lips quivered slightly and he pulled the trigger in one calm, fluid motion. His face didn't move as Samuel Colt's last remaining bullet left its chamber and hit its target with deadly accuracy.

In awe John watched as a mass of zaps and sparks signaled the extermination of the Winchester nemeses, forever ending its reign of terror. It sizzled and sputtered on the ground until it was still and empty. He knew his boys watched with the same awe and disbelief that they had finally beaten this monster.

John's relief surged through him and he felt the shivers run down his spine. The complete liberation that cursed through him in the knowledge that his sons would be safe from this evil that had hunted them their whole life was overwhelming.

And for the first time in a year, all three Winchester men stood face to face and saw each other.

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Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger  
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home  
And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'  
Your prison is walking through this world all alone

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?  
Come down from your fences, open the gate  
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you  
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late

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John felt Bobby and Ellen stare at him, their shock reaching him in waves. He wanted to acknowledge them, he really did, but right now he only had eyes for his boys. He didn't know how he knew, but time was short. He turned his hungry gaze up towards them, a part of him still not comprehending what had happened.

John stood in the silence, basking in the total lack of noise and let the serenity wash over him. It had nothing to do with the absence of the screaming and tormenting that had been the constant in John's existence since what seemed like forever, but everything to do with the two men standing before him with their eyes and hearts locked on him. Their bewilderment and wonder swept over him but it was gentle, without the malice he was used to, and he welcomed the sensation.

The Devils Gate closed with the resounding clang of metal and wood colliding, shutting off the view of Hellfire which has been John's torture chamber for the longest time, but it went unnoticed by all three Winchester men.

Escaping demon's continued to whiz by, black smoky jets spiraling in all directions. The shrill of the wind they created in their rush pierced their ears and rent the air. Ghostly figures continued to rush for stolen freedom, innately finding the breaks in the iron railway tracks. But it went unnoticed by all three Winchester men.

John stood rock still and so did his boys. A Winchester lifetime for this moment. All of Dean's life, altered from one night. All of Sam's life, so that he knew no different. All of John's adult life where grief, sorrow and revenge had been the motivators for facing each day. It lay crackling and sparking, dead on the ground. But it went unnoticed by all three Winchester men.

The only thing the Winchester men noticed was each other.

In total awe, Dean stepped in front of him. John watched as he moved slowly and stopped a few feet away, his face totally open, his eyes huge and intense as he struggled to comprehend that this was his father's force in front of him. John stepped forward and met him halfway, a sign of respect between two men. Dean's face showed his utter incredulity and John understood with certainty that for the first time since he was a child, his eldest son was not hiding behind his emotional wall. Dean's eyes had always been windows to his soul but he guarded the view to within fiercely. John had always known the views he did glimpse were Dean caught off guard, unaware, before he forced that window shut. Now John knew the love and honesty he was seeing in those green eyes, so like his mothers that John's breath caught, was Dean exposing himself willingly. John was unaware of the soft smile that crept onto his face, the father taking its rightful place over the hunter.

He reached up and put his hand on Dean's shoulder, not at all surprised that it was tangible, that they both felt it. Dean's face softened and John saw that he felt it too. Dean's eyes shimmered and John felt a jolt at what he was seeing in their depths. For so long Hell had filled him with images of those eyes in only fear, despair and terror. Now John was seeing the truth that he had clung onto all that time while Hell did its worst.

He looked into those deep green wells and saw the Dean he had always known, the man that Dean only shared with those who had earned his complete trust. He still saw the pride, the bravery, and the fierce protective streak, but he saw what Dean hid from the world. He saw the man with the immense capacity for loving and the need to be loved, in all his vulnerability and strength. All the memories Hell had blocked of those expressive eyes flooded back and John felt his own tears pool in his eyes. He felt the connection that a father and his first born share, a connection more than blood. A connection that Hell had tried to use against him and failed. Dean's lips quivered with unsaid words and John felt his own hot tears trail down his face as he smiled his understanding.

Not severing his physical connection with Dean, John turned his head and sought out his baby. As he watched, all Sam's emotions tumbled out of his heart at once, his expressive face quivering as he struggled to not to break down completely. John saw it all, recognised all that was Sammy shining in those intelligent hazel eyes - love, forgiveness, sorrow, regret, gratitude and admiration. John saw and felt it all, given unconditionally. He watched Sam's tears flow unashamedly as he nodded his acknowledgement of his father's presence, too overwhelmed to move or speak. John nodded his understanding and knew his own face answered in kind, because his heart answered in kind.

With his hand on Dean's shoulder and his eyes locked on Sam's, John felt at peace. The feeling that overwhelmed him was that he was home.

John felt the pull, gently at first and then more insistent. He knew instinctively it was safe to give in to it, it let it gently draw him to somewhere he needed to be. As the warm glow settled over him, he fixed his eyes on his sons. The pride and love he felt for these two men engulfed him with the most peaceful sensation he had experienced since before that night in Kansas when those yellow eyes first began this war on his family. John took a step back as the pull became too insistent to ignore any longer. John gave up his resistance as the pull became an enticement, an invitation, until he surrendered to it completely, giving himself freely. No deals, no force, just…what was supposed to be.

His last vision was beautiful, his two sons, his and Mary's sons, standing tall and united, and he smiled his love.

-: end :-


End file.
